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THE 


WAGONER  OF  THE  ALLEGHANIES. 


A  POEM  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  SEVENTY-SIX. 


UNIVERSITY 


READ. 


,*„., 

Of  tho  ir 

For  thou  wert  of  the  mountains!"— BRYANT. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   &  CO. 

1803. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  18G2,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO. 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Eastern 
District  of  Pennsylvania. 


DEDICATION. 


TO   JAMES   L.  CLAGHORJN". 


MIGHT  I  draw  the  ^inspiration 
"Which  the  sky^nkt  oft  awards, 

And  so  join  the  constellation 
Of  the  death-defying  bards ; 

Might  I  build  some  lofty  moral, 
Beaching  heavenward  like  a  hill, 

On  whose  top  should  grow  the  laurel, 
Leaning  towards  me  at  its  will ; — • 

I  would  gather  all  the  honor 
Not  to  bind  around  my  brow  ; 

But  to  you,  a  grateful  donor, 
I  would  come,  as  I  do  now, 


DEDICATION. 

And  bring  trophies,  where  the  Ages 
Should  behold  our  mingled  names 

But,  alas !  these  simple  pages 
Are  the  most  my  labor  claims. 

Yet,  should  any  leaves  grow  vernal 
In  the  summer-breath  of  praise, 

Then  for  you,  with  hand  fraternal, 
Let  me  twine  my  wreath  of  bays. 

HOME,  August  1,  1861. 


ADVEKTISEMENT. 

THE  scenes  of  this  poem  are  chiefly  laid  on  the 
banks  of  the  Schuylkill,  between  Philadelphia  and 
Valley  Forge ;  the  time,  somewhat  previous  to  and 
during  a  great  part  of  the  war  of  Independence. 


i* 


TO   THE   READER. 


THE  author  is  well  aware  of  the  justice  of  the 
remark  made  by  his  publisher,  that  the  present 
is  not  a  favorable  time  to  expect  the  country  to 
receive  a  volume  of  poetry  with  any  marked 
attention;  yet;  as  much  of  it  has  already  been 
given  to  the  public  through  the  beautiful  medium 
of  Mr.  Murdoch's  voice,  and  as  many  have  ex 
pressed  a  wish  to  see  the  poem  entire,  the  author 
is  induced  to  risk  the  chances.  This  is,  however, 
not  done  without  some  fear  and  trembling  on  his 
part,  inasmuch  as  it  may  turn  out  to  be  that  the 
various  audiences  who  have  heard  it,  and  expressed 
their  approbation,  may  have  been  led  captive  by 
the  reader's  great  elocutionary  power  rather  than 
by  the  beauty  of  the  verse.  Whatever  the  verdict 


TO   THE   READER. 

may  be,  one  gratifying  fact  remains  with,  the 
writer,  that  it  has  been  instrumental,  in  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Murdoch,  of  putting  no  inconsiderable  sums 
of  money  into  the  treasuries  of  sanitary  com 
mittees, — thereby  benefiting  the  sick  and  wounded 
who  have  suffered  in  our  country's  cause. 


CONTENTS. 


PAQB 

INTRODUCTION -13 

PART  I. 

BERKLEY'S  BRIDE •        - 

THE  WILD  WAGONER      --------33 

THE  HEIRESS -          & 

THE  WELCOME         ---------57 

THE  UNWELCOME          --------         71 

THE  RISING     ----------82 

THE  WREATH       --------- 

PART  II. 

THE  YOUNG  PATRIOT      -       -     -- 1Q9 

RUST  ON  THE  SWORD   --------  120 

A  BURIAL 13° 


CONTENTS. 

FAGB 

THE  FIGHT  AT  THE  FORD        _______    138 

THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  CLOUD          _._.._        150 
HEAD-QUARTERS      ----__---    162 

THE  WINTER  CAMP      ..-....-172 

THE  HERALDS 182 


PART  III. 

THE  TANKARD  OF  WINE 195 

THE  MESCHIANZA 203 

THE  BANQUET ----216 

THE  BROTHERS        _-_-.___.  228 

CONCLUSION          -----_.__  250 

NOTES  --- 265 


THE 


WAGONER  OF  THE  ALLEGHANIES. 


Look  on  your  country,  God's  appointed  stage, 

Where  man's  vast  mind  its  boundless  course  shall  run 

For  that  it  was  your  stormy  coast  He  spread, — 

A  fear  in  winter;  girdled  you  about 

With  granite  hills,  and  made  you  firm  and  dread. 

Let  him  who  fears  before  the  foeman  shout, 

Or  gives  one  inch  before  a  vein  has  bled, 

Turn  on  himself  and  let  the  traitor  out. 

BOKRR. 


12 


INTEODUCTION. 


A  GUEST  was  I  at  Berkley  Hall, — 

And  more  behooves  not  guest  to  say : 
The  very  pictures  on  the  wall 

With  kindness  seemed  to  whisper,  "Stay  !" — • 
Old  portraits  of  a  dwindled  line, 

From  Lely's  ruff  and  doublet  down 

To  Copley's  matchless  coat  and  gown, 
Or  Stuart's  later  touch  divine. 
Still  from  their  frames  of  gold  or  oak, 

A  knight  or  lady  shepherdess, 

In  valor  or  in  loveliness, 
Leaned  through  the  twilight  air  and  spoke : 
They  whispered  that  the  road  was  dark, 

And  lone  the  highway  by  the  river, 
That  past  recall  the  latest  bark 

Had  swept  the  landing  of  the  park, — 

2  13 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

There  on  the  stream  I  still  might  mark 

Its  fading  path  of  ripples  quiver, 
And  hear  the  shore-wave  running  after, 
Like  childhood  with  a  voice  of  laughter. 

'Twas  evening,  and  the  autumn  fire 
"Was  feasting  at  the  well-built  pyre, 
Where  every  log,  with  glowing  mirth, 
Poured  from  its  breast  of  ample  girth 
Some  memory  of  April  birth, 

To  cheer  the  hearthstone  of  October. 
There,  conscious  of  his  place  and  worth, 

One  lordly  hound,  with  visage  sober, 
Sheathed  his  large  eyes  in  sleep's  eclipse, 

While  visions  of  the  woodland  chase 

Disturbed  the  slumber  on  his  face 
With  twinklings  at  his  ears  and  lips. 

That  honored  hearth  was  like  a  gate 

Wide  with  the  welcome  of  old  days ; 
No  sulphur-fuming,  modern  grate, 
Which  black  bitumen  daily  crams, 
But  waved  between  its  ample  jambs 

Its  flag  of  hospitable  blaze. 
A  century  gone  'twas  lined  with  tiles, 
Like  those  the  hearths  of  Holland  show  ; 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

And  still  each  Scripture  picture  smiles 
And  brightens  in  the  hickory  glow. 

Oft  from  those  painted  sermons  rude, 

In  musing  hours  of  solitude, 

A  voiceless  thought  hath  searched  the  heart 

Beyond  the  theologian's  art. 

A  moral  winged  with  verse  may  reach 

A  soul  no  weightier  words  will  teach, 

As  arrow  from  the  archer's  bow 

Has  cleaved  where  falchion  failed  to  go ; 

And  truths  from  out  a  picture  oft, 

In  colors  as  the  iris  soft, 

May  shed  an  influence  to  remain 

Where  argument  would  strive  in  vain. 

The  chairs  were  quaint,  antique,  and  tall, 
As  in  some  old  baronial  hall ; 
And  in  an  alcove  dusk  and  dim, 

Like  Denmark's  mailed  and  phantom  king, 
A  suit  of  armor  tall  and  grim 

With  upraised  glaive  seemed  beckoning. 
And  had  it  walked,  the  gazer,  drawn, 
Must  needs  have  followed  on  and  on ! 
The  perforated  steel  confessed 
What  death  had  pierced  the  wearer's  breast. 


INTRODUCTION. 

Near  by,  upon  a  throne  upreared, 
A  harp  of  bygone  times  appeared : 
The  graceful  form  was  deftly  made, 
With  pearl  and  precious  woods  inlaid ; 
And  in  the  firelight,  as  of  old, 
It  flushed  the  shadowy  niche  with  gold. 

In  all  the  orchestras  which  lift 

The  soul  with  rapture  caught  from  far, 
As  in  a  bright  triumphal  car 

Round  which  celestial  splendors  shift, 

No  instrument  of  earth  affords 
An  influence  so  divine  and  deep, 
As  when  the  flying  fingers  sweep 

The  harp,  with  all  its  wondrous  chords. 

Around  its  honored  form  there  lives 
Romance  mysterious,  vague,  and  old : 

I  see  the  shapes  which  history  gives 
The  bards  in  dim  traditions  told, — • 

With  visions  of  great  kingly  halls, 

Where  red,  barbaric  splendor  falls ; 

But  chiefly  I  behold  and  hear — 

While  bends  a  troop  of  seraphs  near — 
The  angels,  with  their  locks  of  gold. 


INTRODUCTION.  17 

Such  shadowy  halls  of  deep  repose 

A  New-World  homestead  seldom  shows ; 

But  such  the  traveller  frequent  sees, 

Embowered  within  ancestral  trees, 

In  that  maternal  isle  whose  breast 
First  warmed  our  eagle  into  life, 
And  then,  with  rude,  unnatural  strife, 

Pushed  the  brave  offspring  from  her  nest, — 
Which,  launched  upon  its  sunward  track, 
No  voice  on  earth  could  summon  back. 

Here,  while  I  slowly  paced  the  room, 

Strange  visions  filled  the  fitful  gloom. 

On  soft,  invisible  feet  they  came ; 

I  heard  them  speak, — or  was't  the  flame 

That  muttered  in  the  chimney  wide  ? 

Faint  shadows  wavered  at  my  side, 

My  spirit  heard  a  spirit  sigh, 

While  gauzy  garments  rustled  by ! 

A  pallid  phantom  of  the  fire 

Leapt  o'er  the  high  flame  wildly  higher, — 

A  blaze  that  vanished  with  a  bound ! 

A  whine  escaped  the  sleeping  hound, — 

A  sudden  wind  swept  up  the  lane, 

And  drove  the  leaves  like  frighted  herds ; 

2* 


38  INTEODUCTION. 

Some,  like  the  ghosts  of  summer-birds, 
Fluttered  against  the  window-pane. 

Hawthorne,  my  friend,  had  I  your  wand, 
How,  at  the  waving  of  my  hand, 
The  place,  and  all  its  grandeur  gone, 
Should  on  the  marvelling  vision  dawn ! 
Each  shepherdess,  or  warrior  bold, 

Each  knight  and  dame,  in  ruff  and  frill, 

Obedient  to  the  wizard  will, 
Should  step  from  antique  oak  or  gold ; 
Bright  eyes  should  glance,  sweet  voices  sing, 

And  light  feet  trip  the  waxen  floor ; 
And  round  the  festive  board  should  ring 

The  friendly  goblets,  as  of  yore ; 
And  Love's  sweet  grief  be  newly  told 
Under  the  elm-trees,  as  of  old. 
But,  ah  1  the  hazel  wand  you  wield 

Was  grown  by  that  enchanted  stream 

Which  sometimes  flashes  through  my  dream, 
But  flows  not  through  my  barren  field ! 

The  host  came  in  :  he  took  my  hand  : 
He  saw  the  wonder  on  my  face, 

And  said,  "Ah,  yes:  I  understand: 
You  marvel  at  this  curious  place, 


INTRODUCTION.  19 

Which  starts  your  fancy  into  play. 
My  locks,  you  see,  are  somewhat  gray : 

What  touches  you  on  me  is  lost. 
This  white  hair  drives  romance  away, 

As  flowers  are  driven  by  the  frost. 
But  if  a  tale  would  please  your  ear, 
There's  one  which  you  are  free  to  hear. 

Within  a  little,  secret  drawer 
Of  this  black,  antique  escritoir, 
I  found  a  simple  golden  case, 
Which  held  the  semblance  of  a  face 
So  wondrous  in. its  wild  attire 

Of  floating  robe  and  flying  hair, 

And  eyes  that  thrilled  the  very  air 
To  pleasure  with  their  starry  fire, 
That  instantly  the  long-passed  name 
Blazed  on  my  memory  like  a  flame ; 

And  old  traditions,  dimmed  by  years, 
Breathed  from  invisible  lips  there  came, 

And  lingered  in  my  credulous  ears, 
And  night  and  day  disturbed  my  soul, 
Until,  perforce,  I  wrote  the  whole : 
That  is  the  picture, — this  the  scroll. 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

Draw  near ;  and  let  wild  Autumn  blow : 
He  does  but  fan  the  lighted  pyre : 
Between  the  warmth  of  wine  and  fire 

Perchance  the  verse  may  thaw  and  flow 
From  off  the  visionary  lyre 

As  in  the  days  of  long  ago. 


PART   I. 


O 

UNIVERSITY 


BEKKLEY'S    BKIDE. 

MY  grandsire,  when  lie  built  the  place, 
Sir  Hugh,  (you  may  behold  him  there, 
With  ruffles,  cue,  and  powdered  hair, 
And  proper  blandness  on  his  face,) 
Was  Tory,  and  his  loyal  soul 

No  rebel  dream  could  e'er  beguile : 
He  would  have  had  the  land  in  whole, 
Colossal,  touching  either  pole, 

A  likeness  of  his  native  isle  I 
Hence  the  Elizabethan  gables, 
The  lawns,  the  elms,  the  antique  stables, 
And  all  this  lumber  called  virtu, 
This  old  time  frowning  down  the  new. 

But,  ere  I  tell  you  more  of  him, 

Or  point  the  objects  strange  and  quaint, 


THE   WAGONER   OF 

I  pray  you  note  these  figures  dim, 
Half  hid  in  dust  and  cracking  paint. 

That  picture  of  those  little  ones, 

Which  represent  Alcmena's  sons, 

Young  Hercules  and  his  weaker  brother,— 
One  with  the  snake  in  his  baby  hands, 
Crushing  it  as  in  iron  bands, 

While  in  affright  recoils  the  other, — 

Are  portraits  which  the  Berkley  mother, 

In  all  the  wealth  of  parental  joys, 

Had  painted  of  her  two  fair  boys ; 

And  pictured  thus,  because  she  knew 

There  was  that  difference  'twixt  the  two. 
The  child  who  holds  the  writhing  snake 
Was  Ralph ;  the  one  who  seems  to  quake 

And  shudder  back, — that  was  Sir  Hugh. 

They  grew,  and  oft  the  quarrel  loud 

Raged  'twixt  them  when  they  were  together 

Sir  Hugh  was  sullen,  wintry,  proud, 

The  other  fierce  as  mad  March  weather, — 

A  swift,  cloud-blowing,  whirling  day, 

That  o'er  all  obstacles  makes  way, 

Whether  in  wrath  or  whether  in  play, 

Striding  on  to  the  stormy  end, 

Breaking  what  will  not  bow  or  bend. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  25 

The  soul  which  lights  that  face  of  paint, 

You  well  discern,  would  scorn  restraint ; 

And  when  he  grew  a  stripling  tall, 
Knowing  himself  the  younger  brother, 
And  feeling  the  coldness  of  the  other, 

The  place  for  him  proved  far  too  small : 

So,  staying  not  for  leave  to  ask, 

Our  Hercules  went  to  seek  his  task ; 

And,  lest  his  family  might  reclaim 

Their  truant,  took  another  name, 

Joining  the  army.     Tradition  tells 

He  did  some  daring  miracles. 

'Twas  said  he  fell  in  a  midnight  trench 

At  Fort  du  Quesne,  against  the  French. 

Sir  Hugh  was  then  the  only  son 

To  hand  the  name  of  Berkley  on. 

His  lady — she  who  bears  a  crook, 
And  shepherds  at  her  careful  side 

A  lamb,  while  from  her  eyes  a  look 
Of  mildness  chastens  half  her  pride — 
Gave  to  the  house  one  child,  and  died. 

That  child  a  maiden  grown  you  see, 
With  laughing  eyes  and  tresses  free, 

Which  wellnigh  mocked  the  painter's  skill : 


26  THE   WAGONER  OF 

It  glows  as  if  some  morning  beam 
Had  poured  here  in  a  golden  stream, 
And,  when  the  sun  passed,  lingered  still, 

A  year  or  two  went  by,  and  then 
His  heart  was  vacant  as  his  hall. 
No  pleasure  answered  to  his  call, 

No  joy  was  in  the  world  of  men  : 

One  passion  only  swayed  his  mind, 
And  thrust  all  other  thoughts  aside, — 
The  passion  of  ancestral  pride. 

The  blindest  of  all  eyes  most  blind 

Are  those  forever  turned  behind. 

Sheer  to  the  past  he  held  his  face, 
Like  some  mad  boatman  on  a  river, 

With  eyes  still  on  some  long-gone  place, 
Until  he  feels  the  shock  and  shiver 
Which  tells  him  he  is  gone  forever. 

The  empty  hall,  or  vacant  heart, 

When  a  new-comer  passes  in, 
Throwing  the  dusty  doors  apart, 

Sounds  and  re-echoes  with  a  din 
Which  makes  the  ghostly  shadows  start 

And  fly  into  the  dusk  remote ; 

The  webs  about  the  casements  float, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  27 

And  flutter  on  the  sudden  gust ; 

The  sun  pours  in  its  golden  dust ; 
The  phantom  Silence  dies  in  air, 

And  rapidly  from  hall  to  hall, 

With  questioning  eyes  and  backward  hair, 
Wild  Wonder  speeds,  and  mounts  the  stair, 

Chasing  the  echoes'  far  footfall. 

Thus  into  Berkley's  hall  and  heart, 

Led  by  his  fancy's  sudden  whim, 
Passed  a  new  bride, — a  face  to  dart 

Strange  lustre  through  the  twilight  dim, — 

A  soul  that  even  startled  him, 
Until  he  half  forgot  his  pride : 

Else  had  he  never  stooped  to  embower 

Beneath  his  ancient  roof  the  flower 
To  common  wildwood  vines  allied. 

Thus  oft  the  passion  most  profound, 

Which  triumphed  over  all  the  past, 
With  unexpected  halt,  wheels  round, 

And  contradicts  itself  at  last. 

He  took  her  from  a  rival's  breast. 
The  hot  youth  dared  him  to  the  test : 


THE   WAGONER   OP 

Alas !  lie  fell  on  Berkley's  steel ; 
And,  it  is  said,  through  woe  or  weal 
She  ever  loved  the  rival  best. 

Her  heart  was  like  a  crystal  spring, 
Fluttered  by  every  breezy  wing : 
Was  there  a  cloud  ?  a  darker  shade 
Was  in  its  deep  recesses  laid ; 
Was  there  a  sun  ?  the  pool,  o'errun 
With  glory,  seemed  to  mock  the  sun. 
Her  black  hair,  oft  with  violets  twined, 

(Her  heart  was  with  the  wildest  flowers,) 
Tossed  back  at  random,  wooed  the  wind, 

That  chased  her  through  the  forest  bowers. 
The  woodman  felt  his  hand  relax 
A  moment  on  the  lifted  axe, 

As  through  the  vistas  of  the  trees 
He  saw  her  glide,  a  spirit  blithe ; 

Or,  when  she  tript  the  harvest  leas, 
The  singing  mower  stayed  his  scythe, 
Watched  where  she  fled,  then  took  his  way, 
And,  mowing,  sang  no  more  that  day. 

With  no  misgiving  thought  or  doubt, 
Her  fond  arms  clasped  his  child  about, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  29 

In  the  full  mantle  of  her  love ; 

For  whoso  loves  the  darling  flowers 

Must  love  the  bloom  of  human  bowers, — 
The  types  of  brightest  things  above. 
One  day — one  happy  summer-day — 

She  prest  it  to  her  tender  breast : 
The  sunshine  of  its  head  there  lay 

As  pillowed  in  its  native  rest, — 
A  blissful  picture  of  repose, 
A  lily  bosomed  on  a  rose : 
The  smallest  lily  of  the  vale 
Making  the  rose's  sweet  breast  pale. 

One  only  day, — and  then  the  sire, 

Still  to  his  former  spirit  true, 

Lest  the  young  bud  should  take  the  hue 
Of  that  which  glowed  too  fondly  by  her, — 
Of  that  sweet  wildling,  nature's  own, — 
And  thereby  learn  the  look  and  tone 
Of  spirits  alien  unto  pride, 
Conveyed  her  to  the  river's  side. — - 

For  months  his  household  felt  eclipse, — 

And  one  of  his  own  many  ships 
Bore  her  across  the  ocean  wide ; 
And  soon  in  her  ancestral  isle 

Was  shed  the  sunshine  of  her  smile. 
8* 


30  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Ere  half  the  summer  passed  away, 

The  lady  Berkley  grew  less  gay, 

And,  like  a  captured  forest-fawn, 

She  seemed  to  mourn  some  freedom  gone, — • 

Mourned  for  her  native  mountain-wild, 

From  which  her  feet  had  been  beguiled. 

Her  cheeks  grew  pale,  and  dim  her  eye, 
Her  voice  was  low,  her  mirth  was  stayed ; 

Upon  her  heart  there  seemed  to  lie 
The  darkness  of  a  nameless  shade ; 

She  paced  the 'house  from  room  to  room, 

Her  form  became  a  walking  gloom. 

The  menials,  in  their  fancy  wise, 

Glared  at  each  other  with  strange  leers ; 
And,  when  she  met  her  husband's  eyes, 

Her  sad  soul  burst  to  instant  tears. 
He  wondered  with  a  cold  surmise, 

And  questioned  with  as  heartless  words : 
And  could  it  be  a  woodland  flower 
Would  pine  within  such  stately  bower  ? 

Or,  favored  o'er  all  forest  birds, 
Could  this  one  droop  with  strange  desires 
"Within  a  cage  of  golden  wires  ? 


UNIVEESITY 


THE   ALLEGHANI 


Have  you  beheld  a  mountain-brook 

Turned  to  some  cultured  garden-nook, — 
How  it  grows  stagnant  in  the  pool, 
Like  some  wild  urchin  in  a  school 

That  saddens  o'er  a  hateful  book  ? 

Thus  grew  the  lady,  and  her  look 
Became  at  last  as  one  insane : 
The  cloud  that  long  o'ercast  her  brain 
Still  whirled  with  gusty  falls  of  rain, 

"Which  drowned  her  heart  and  dimmed  her  eyes, 

As  when  the  dull  autumnal  skies 
Long  blur  the  dreary  window-pane. 

One  morn,  strange  wonder  filled  the  place, 
And  fruitless  searching  filled  the  day; 

The  stream,  the  woodland,  gave  no  trace : 
They  only  knew  she  passed  away, — • 

Passed  like  a  vision  in  the  air, 

With  naught  to  tell  of  how  or  where. 

* 

Tradition  adds  how,  night  by  night, 
With  hanging  hair  and  robes  of  white, 
With  pallid  hands  together  prest 
In  pain  upon  her  aching  breast, 
Her  spirit  walked  from  room  to  room, 
As  if  in  search  of  something  lost ; 


32  THE   WAGONER  OF 

That  even  Berkley  shunned  the  gloom, 

Fearing  to  meet  that  breathless  ghost  ; 
For  some  averred  her  form  had  been 
Afloat  upon  the  river  seen ; 
While  some,  with  stouter  words,  replied, 
The  maniac  lady  wandered  wide 
Upon  her  native  mountain-side. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  33 


II. 


THE    WILD    WAGONEK. 

IN  days  long  gone,  "The  Ship  and  Sheaf" 
Was  deemed  of  goodly  inns  the  chief: — • 
"  The  Ship,"- — because  its  ample  door 
Fronted  the  barks  that  lined  the  shore, 

Where  oft  the  sun,  o'er  Delaware, 
Looking  'twixt  masts  and  cordage  bare, 
Their  shadows  threw  on  the  sanded  floor, 

Sailing  a  phantom  vessel  there. 

And  there  the  crews  from  far-off  climes 
Reeled  in  and  sang  their  rough  sea-rhymes, 
With  laughter  learned  from  the  ocean  gale, 
As  clinked  their  dripping  cups  of  ale ; 
While  froth  was  dashed  o'er  many  a  lip, 
Like  foam  against  a  speeding  ship, 


34  THE  WAGONER  OF 

And  tables  chronicled  in  scars 
The  tankards  and  the  thirsty  tars. 

"  The  Sheaf," — because  the  wagoner  there, 

The  captain  of  the  highway-ship, 
Fresh  breathing  of  his  mountain  air, 

Hung  on  the  wall  his  coat  and  whip ; 
And  farmer,  bringing  his  stores  to  town, 
And  drover,  who  drove  his  cattle  down, 

Conversed  of  pastures  and  of  sheaves, 
The  season's  drouth,  or  ruinous  rain, 
Or  told  of  fabulous  crops  of  grain, 

Or  fields  where  grazed  incredible  beeves. 

'Twas  April,  and  the  evening  winds 

Were  rattling  at  the  open  blinds ; 

The  sign,  upon  its  hinge  of  rust, 

Made  dreary  answer  to  the  gust, 

That  smote  the  masts  like  an  ocean  squall, 

And,  whistling,  mocked  the  boatswain's  call. 

The  latch  went  up ;  the  door  was  thrown 
Awide,  as  by  a  tempest  blown ; 
While,  bold  as  an  embodied  storm, 
Strode  in  a  dark  and  stalwart  form, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  35 

And  all  the  lights  in  the  sudden  wind 
Flared  as  he  slammed  the  door  behind. 

The  noisy  revellers  ceased  their  din, 

And  into  the  corner  skulked  the  cur, 
As  the  startled  keeper  welcomed  in 

The  feared  and  famous  wagoner  ! 
Not  long  they  brooked  the  keen  eye-glance 
Who  gazed  into  that  countenance ; 
And  even  in  his  mildest  mood 
His  voice  was  sudden,  loud,  and  rude 
As  is  a  swollen  mountain-stream. 
He  spoke  as  to  a  restive  team. 
His  team  was  of  the  wildest  breed 

That  ever  tested  wagoner's  skill : 
Each  was  a  fierce,  unbroken  steed, 

Curbed  only  by  his  giant  will ; 
And  every  ostler  quaked  with  fear 
What  time  his  loud  bells  wrangled  near. 

On  many  a  dangerous  mountain- track, 
While  oft  the  tempest  burst  its  wrack, 
When  lightning,  like  his  mad  whip-lash, 
Whirled  round  the  team  its  crooked  flash, 
And  horses  reared  in  fiery  fright, 


36  THE   WAGONER   OF 

While  near  them,  burst  the  thunder-crash, 
Then  heard  the  gale  his  voice  of  might. 

The  peasant  from  his  window  gazed, 
And,  staring  through  the  darkened  air, 

Saw,  when  the  sudden  lightning  blazed, 
The  fearful  vision  plunging  there ! 

And  oft  on  many  a  wintry  hill 

He  dashed  from  out  the  vale  below, 

And  heaved  his  way  through  drifts  of  snow, 

While  all  his  wheels,  with  voices  shrill, 
Shrieked  to  the  frosty  air. afar, 
As  if  December's  tempest-car 

Obeyed  the  winter's  maniac  will. 

Ye  knew  him  well,  ye  mountain-miles, 

Throughout  your  numerous  dark  defiles : — 

Where  Juniata  leaps  away 

On  feathery  wings  of  foam  and  spray ; 

Or  queenly  Susquehanna  smiles, 

Proud  in  the  grace  of  her  thousand  isles ; 

Where  Poet  and  Historian  fling 

Their  light  o'er  classic  Wyoming ; 

And  you,  ye  green  Lancastrian  fields, 

Rich  with  the  wealth  which  Ceres  yields ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  37 

And  Chester's  storied  vales  and  hills, 
In  depths  of  rural  calm,  divine, 
Where  reels  the  flashing  Brandywirie, 

And  dallies  with  its  hundred  mills. 

Such  was  the  figure,  strange  and  wild ; 
And  at  his  side  a  twelve-years  child — 
An  eagle-eyed,  bright,  wondering  lad, 
In  rustic  winter  garments  clad — 
Entered,  and  held  the  wagoner's  hand, 
"While  on  his  visage,  flushed  and  tanned, 
A  pleasure  mingled  with  amaze 
Parted  his  lips  and  filled  his  gaze. 
His  hair  was  wavy,  long,  and  black, 
And  from  his  forehead  drifted  back 
By  the  last  greeting  of  the  gale, 
Where  still  the  random  rain  and  hail 
Clung  glistening  like  the  tangled  pearls 
In  careless  locks  of  Indian  girls. 

The  host  with  usual  "welcome"  smiled, 
And  praised  the  bright-eyed  stranger  child ; 
Whereat  the  wagoner  lightly  spake : — 
"  Be  all  your  praising  for  his  sake : 
I  found  him  in  the  wagon-trough 
A-swinging  like  a  cradled  thing; 


38  THE   WAGONER  OF 

With  angry  words  I  bade  him  off, — 

He  stared  with  large  eyes  wondering, 
And  answered  that  his  way  was  long, 

His  knees  were  tired,  his  feet  were  sore; 

And  then  his  face  new  brightness  wore, 
And  straight  his  spirit  burst  to  song : 

I  listened,  and  my  frown  gave  o'er. 

My  nature,  like  my  hand,  is  rough, 
My  heart  is  of  rude  mountain  stuff; 
And  yet,  I  own,  a  laughing  child 
Can  make  at  times  my  temper  mild. 

I  placed  him  on  the  wheel-horse  back, 

Where  shoulder-shaken  bells  were  ringing. 

The  king  of  all  the  bells  was  he, — 

So  silver-clear  his  voice  of  glee ; 

And  there  he  cheered  the  way  with  singing, 

Till  music  filled  our  dreary  track. 

There  is  not  much  I  ask  or  need  ; 
Yet  would  I  give  my  favorite  steed 
To  sing  the  song  he  sang  to-day, 
And  for  a  heart  as  light  and  gay : 
The  very  team  went  rearing  mad 
With  joy  beneath  his  voice  so  glad, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  39 

As  when  the  steeds  of  battle  hear 
The  wild  war-clarion  ringing  near. 
Come,  my  young  wood-bird,  sing  again 
That  breezy  song, — that  mountain-strain." 
And  thus,  from  lips  of  fresh  delight, 
The  wild  and  artless  song  took  flight. 

SONG. 


"Where  sweeps  round  the  mountains 

The  cloud  on  the  gale, 
And  streams  from  their  fountains 

Leap  into  the  vale, — 
Like  frighted  deer  leap  when 

The  storm  with  his  pack 
Rides  over  the  steep  in 

The  wild  torrent's  track, — 
Even  there  my  free  home  is ; 

There  watch  I  the  flocks 
Wander  white  as  the  foam  is 

On  stairways  of  rocks. 
Secure  in  the  gorge  there 

In  freedom  we  sing, 
And  laugh  at  King  George,  where 

The  Eagle  is  king. 


40  THE   WAGONER   OF 

II. 

I  mount  the  wild  horse  with 

No  saddle  or  rein, 
And  guide  his  swift  course  with 

A  grasp  on  his  mane ; 
Through  paths  steep  and  narrow, 

And  scorning  the  crag, 
I  chase  with  my  arrow 

The  flight  of  the  stag. 
Through  snow-drifts  engulfing, 

I  follow  the  bear, 
And  face  the  gaunt  wolf  when 

He  snarls  in  his  lair, 
And  watch  through  the  gorge  there 

The  red  panther  spring, 
And  laugh  at  King  George,  where 

The  Eagle  is  king. 

Hi. 

When  April  is  sounding 
His  horn  o'er  the  hills, 

And  brooklets  are  bounding 
In  joy  to  the  mills, — 

When  warm  August  slumbers 
Among  her  green  leaves, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  41 

And  Harvest  encumbers 

Her  garners  with  sheaves, — 
When  the  flail  of  November 

Is  swinging  with  might, 
And  the  miller  December 

Is  mantled  with  white, — 
In  field  and  in  forge  there 

The  free-hearted  sing, 
And  laugh  at  King  George,  where 

The  Eagle  is  king. 

Some  praised  the  voice,  and  some,  in  doubt, 
With  look  uncertain,  gazed  about ; 
And  some,  with  loyal  feeling  strong, 
Condemned  the  singer  and  the  song, 
And  swore  it  was  a  rebel  strain 
They  would  not  calmly  hear  again. 
Whereat  the  wagoner's  eyes  of  fire 
Flashed  round  a  withering  look  of  ire ; 
His  brows  grew  black,  his  temple-veins 
Grew  large,  like  brooks  with  sudden  rains ; 
From  face  to  face  he  bent  his  glance, 
And  searched  each  quailing  countenance. 

Thus  for  a  time  great  Henry  stood, 

When  cries  of  "  treason"  fired  his  blood, 
4* 


THE   WAGONER   OP 

Till  from  his  quivering  lips  was  hurled 
The  answer  that  awoke  the  world. 
And  thus  the  last  of  all  that  band,* 
The  giants  of  our  native  land, 
The  safeguards  in  our  darkest  hours, 
Our  bulwarks  and  our  sentinel  towers, 
Oft  stood,  and  from  his  cavernous  eyes 
Sped  to  the  heart  his  great  replies : 
Far  in  advance  he  fiercely  sent 
The  fiery  shaft  of  argument  ; 
And,  when  he  spoke,  'twas  but  to  tell 
In  thunder  where  the  red  bolt  fell  1 

Thus  stood  the  wagoner,  till  at  length, 
With  voice  subdued  to  conscious  strength, 
He  spoke,  and  said,  "  Our  eagle's  wing 
Shall  mount,  the  eagle  shall  be  king  ! 
And  jackals  shall  be  heard  no  more 
When  Freedom's  monarch  bird  shall  soar." 

'Twas  passed,  and  none  essayed  reply ; 
Defeat  or  triumph  filled  each  eye. 
Whence  came  the  boy  ?  was  asked  in  vain ; 
What  errand  brought  the  truant  down  ? 

*  Webster. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  43 

What  would  he  in  the  noisy  town  ? — 
Conjecture  but  replied  again. 

The  wagoner  drew  the  host  aside, 

And  said,  "The  storm,  approaches  near, 

And  soon  its  bolts  must  be  defied  : 
For  me  its  thunders  bring  no  fear ; 
But  for  this  tender  fledgling  here, 

'Twere  well  if  he  a  while  might  rest 

Secure  in  some  protected  nest. 

This  hand  that  long  has  grasped  the  whip 
Must  shortly  take  within  its  grip 
Another  scourge,  and  boldly  deal 
The  blow  a  tyrant  needs  must  feel : 
Hence  it  were  best  the  boy  should  be 
Removed  a  little  space  from  me, 
Lest  that  the  battling  oak  might  wrong 
The  eaglet  it  has  sheltered  long." 

Then  said  the  landlord,  as  he  took 

Another  survey  of  the  face, 

"  It  was  no  fancy  made  me  trace 
In  that  young  form  the  Ringbolt  look. 
Although  your  answer  seemed  to  say 
He  crossed  but  now  your  townward  way." 


44  THE   WAGONER  OF 

"  Even  as  I  told,"  the  wagoner  said 
"  The  urchin,  wild  of  heart  and  head, 
Wishing  to  follow  where  I  led, 
Stealthily  stole  behind  the  wain, 
Breasting  the  gusts  of  hail  and  rain. 
It  was  no  easy  task,  I  fear, 
For  one  so  young  to  keep  so  near. 
For  miles  I  thought  I  heard  the  beat 
And  splash,  behind,  of  following  feet. 
You  well  may  guess  with  what  surprise 
I  met  the  truant's  laughing  eyes, 
And  how  that  face  of  brave  delight, 
While  in  the  trough  he  sat  upright, 
Put  all  my  chiding  words  to  flight. 

All  day  my  thoughts  were  somewhat  sad 
With  too  much  dwelling  on  the  lad, 
Contriving  where  I  best  might  trust 
His  sheltered  head  when  comes  the  gust. 
For  when  it  comes,  I  must  be  where 
The  thickest  dangers  are  to  dare ; 
And  there  are  cowards  who  would  make 
The  boy  a  victim  for  my  sake. 
It  was  for  this  I  would  not  own 
Before  these  Tories  of  the  town 
The  child  was  aught  to  me  beside 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  45 

A  friendless  truant  wandering  down, 
Whom,  pitying,  I  allowed  to  ride. 

And  now,  my  friend,  I  ask  of  you 

To  aid  me  in  my  urgent  need, — 
To  give  or  find  the  boy  a  home 
Where  present  danger  may  not  come : 
For  this  you  shall  receive  your  due, 

Even  though  it  cost  my  last  good  steed." 

The  host  replied,  "Leave  that  to  me  : 
There's  many  a  one  comes  here  to  dine 

Would  joy  beside  his  chair  to  see 
So  lithe  an  urchin  serve  his  wine." 

"Serve!" — but  between  the  wagoner's  teeth 
The  word  was  crushed  to  instant  death : 
His  brow  grew  black  a  moment,  then 
As  quickly  it  was  cleared  again. 
"  Be  it,  good  landlord,  as  you  say," 
He  murmured :  "  'tis  but  for  a  day," 
And  then  abruptly  turned  away. 

Under  the  gable-roof  the  boy 

Soon  prest  the  soothing  bed  with  joy: 


46  THE  WAGONER  OF 

A  little  while  he  heard  the  sigh 
Of  winds  like  spirits  hovering  nigh, 
The  weather-vane  that  creaked  aloof, 
The  slumberous  rain  along  the  roof, 

And  breathed  the  scent  of  bundled  herbs 
Close  to  the  waspy  rafters  hung ; 
Then  heard  the  hour  from  the  belfry  flung, 
And  then  the  watch  along  the  curbs, 
With  voice  that  warns  but  not  disturbs ; 
Then  slept,  and  dreamed  of  his  native  place, 
And  woke  with  the  red  sun  on  his  face. 


THE   ALLEGHAKEES. 


III. 

THE    HEIKESS. 

0  QT  of  the  sea,  and  over  the  land, 
Over  the  level  Jersey  sand, 
Making  the  bay  with  splendor  quiver, 
Flashing  a  glory  up  the  river, 
Came  the  morn  on  its  wheel  of  fire, 
Flinging  flame  from  its  glowing  tire. 

And  with  the  morning,  up  the  tide, 
Through  golden  vapor  dim  descried, 
A  distant  ship  was  seen  to  ride, 
Vague  as  a  vessel  in  a  dream, — • 
More  in  the  sky  than  on  the  stream. 

Down  to  the  wharf  a  horseman  rode, 
As  oft  on  many  a  morn  before, 


48  THE   WAGONER   OF 

To  note  the  barks  that  inland  bore ; 

And  when  his  glance  had  swept  the  shore, 
His  face  with  sudden  pleasure  glowed. 
He  gave  the  rein  to  a  boy  near  by, 
And  raised  him  in  his  stirrups  high, 
And  poised  the  glass  at  his  anxious  eye. — 
Long  time  with  breathless  breast  he  gazed, 
Then  deeply  sighed,  "Now,  Heaven  be  praised!" 
And  to  a  skipper  sauntering  past 

He  cried,  "Unless  my  vision  fail, 

I  know  the  set  of  yonder  sail 
And  the  streamer  at  her  mast  I" 
The  skipper  then  a  moment  scanned 
The  ship  beneath  his  shading  hand, 

And  answered,  with  a  sudden  smile, 
"Ay,  ay,  sir :  I  should  know  that  deck : 
The  same  that  saved  us  once  from  wreck, — • 

'The  Lady  of  the  Isle!'" 

In  haste  the  rider  grasped  the  rein, 
And  turned  his  restive  steed  again, 
Yet,  ere  he  sped,  with  hand  of  joy 
A  coin  of  silver  flung  the  boy, 
And,  as  he  threw,  looked  down  and  smiled; 
And  then,  as  if  some  form  had  risen 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  49 

To  meet  him  from  its  churchyard  prison, 
He  stared  upon  the  wondering  child. 

He  would  have  spoke ;  but  gayly  now, 
Before  the  startled  words  could  join, 
The  boy  was  toying  with  the  coin, 
Twirling  it  in  the  sunny  air, 
Laughing  to  see  it  flashing  there. 

A  moment  the  rider  pressed  his  brow, 
Then  dashed  the  vision  in  scorn  aside, 
And  glanced  again  o'er  the  distant  tide, 

And,  with  a  face  of  new  delight, 
Struck  to  the  rowels  the  glittering  spurs : 
The  steed  obeyed  the  urging  burrs, 

And  bore  proud  Berkley  out  of  sight. 

The  hour  went  by.     Before  the  town 
The  ship  came  up  ;  the  sails  were  doft ; 
The  happy  crew,  alow  and  aloft, 
Sang  as  the  anchor  rattled  down, — 
Down  and  down,  as  the  windlass  flew, 
Linking  the  Old  World  with  the  New. 

A  crowd  was  gathering  on  the  wharf, 
A  crowd  leaned  on  the  vessel's  side, 

And  here  and  there  a  waving  scarf 
Bespoke  some  welcome  friend  descried. 


50  THE   WAGONER  OF 

At  the  open  gang  a  maiden  stood, 
Reflected  in  the  happy  flood, — • 
Oh,  enviable  flood,  how  blest 
With  such  a  vision  on  thy  breast ! — 
Stood  like  a  timid,  startled  fawn 
Gazing  where  its  mates  are  gone ; 
Stood  like  a  white  star  in  the  dawn, 
Looking  with  inquiring  eyes 
Where  its  westward  pathway  Kes. 

Loud  rumbling  to  the  shore  anon 

A  stately  coach  came  proudly  drawn, 

With  the  ancient  Berkley  arms  thereon ; 

And  soon  to  land  the  maid,  whose  hair 

Shed  amber  beauty  in  the  air, 

Was  borne,  and  on  her  father's  breast 

The  long-expected  child  was  prest. 

The  gold  of  fifteen  summer  suns 

Was  tangled  in  young  Esther's  locks ; 
Her  voice,  it  was  a  rill  that  runs 

Half  spray  among  the  flowers  and  rocks ; 
The  hues  of  the  dewiest  violet 
Within  her  liquid  eyes  were  set ; 
Her  form  was  small,  her  figure  light, 
As  is  some  fabled  fountain-sprite ; 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  51 

The  aerial  scarf  about  her  twined 
Like  gossamer,  seemed  to  woo  the  wind ; 
A  shape  so  light,  she  seemed  to  be 
That  vision  which  poets  only  see, — • 
The  spirit  of  that  iris  small 
Poised  on  the  mist  of  a  waterfall. 

Foremost  amid  the  crowd  amazed 

The  truant  urchin  stood  and  gazed. 

His  sunbrown  cheek  and  large  dark  eyes, 

His  long  black  hair  and  rustic  guise, 

Contrasted  with  the  maiden  bright, 

In  her  auroral  beauty  dight, 

As  if  some  offspring  of  the  eve 

His  dusk  home  in  the  west  should  leave, 

To  gaze,  by  love  and  wonder  drawn, 

On  some  fair  daughter  of  the  dawn. 

Again  the  proud  man,  in  his  joy, 

Shuddered  as  he  beheld  the  boy ; 

But  the  happy  maid  looked  round  and  smiled, — 

Smiled  through  her  tears  at  the  vision  wild 

Of  flashing  eyes  and  raven  hair, 

And  cheeks  long  tanned  by  mountain-air. 

That  smile  went  to  the  urchin's  heart, 

Secure  as  ever  archer's  dart 


THE   WAGONER   OF 

Sped  to  the  target's  central  shade, 

Long  quivering  where  it  struck  and  stayed. 

But  soon  the  carriage,  with  rumbling  loud, 
Conveyed  the  lovely  shape  from  sight ; 
And  he  felt  like  a  traveller  in  the  night 

When  the  moon  glides  into  a  thunder-cloud 
And  will  no  more  return  to  sight. 

Out  of  the  vessel  came  many  a  box 

Of  Berkley's  treasures  manifold; 
Some  with  iron  bands  and  locks, 

Some  from  the  cabin,  some  from  the  hold. 

Some  were  carried,  some  were  rolled ; 
But  one,  with  curious  shape",  to  shore 
With  careful  hands  the  sailors  bore  : 

They  said  it  contained  a  harp  of  gold 
Of  strange  device, — they  knew  no  more. 

A  wain  took  up  the  various  load  ; 
The  truant  followed  it  out  of  town, 
By  wild,  adventurous  wonder  drawn 

Along  the  winding  highway  road, 

Where  Berkley  Hall  looked  proudly  down 

Over  its  river-reaching  lawn. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  53 

When  Berkley  saw  the  boy  again, 

He  took  him  by  the  willing  hand, 
And  asked  him.  questions  simple,  plain, 

In  easy  words  to  understand ; 
But  still  the  youth,  with  laughing  eyes, 
Made  answer  with  wide,  vague  replies ; 
Nor  would  he  tell  from  whence  he  came, 
But  answered,  "Ugo"  was  his  name. 

And  then  the  master  smoothed  his  hair, 

And  said,  in  soothing  accents  mild, 

"  It  is  a  barren  world,  my  child, 
And  full  of  hearts  as  bleak  and  bare 

As  is  a  winter  heath  forlorn, 

Where  only  thrives  the  tangled  thorn ; 
And  when  a  stray  lamb  wanders  there 

Its  sides  are  sorely  fleeced  and  torn. 
What  can  you  to  secure  your  bread  ? 
Or  how  at  night  procure  your  bed?" 

The  boy  looked  up  with  wondering  face, 
Which  told  such  thought  had  never  place 
Within  the  precincts  of  his  brain ; 
And  then  he  gayly  cried  again, 
With  voice  on  laughter's  sudden  wing, 
"  So  please  you,  master,  I  can  sing !" 

5* 


THE   WAGONER   OF 

"A  fair  profession,  by  my  troth !" 

Sir  Hugh  replied,  "  when  tune  and  words 

Are  fitted  well,  and,  suiting  both, 

The  spirit  with  the  voice  accords : 

But  they  come  off  the  hungriest  birds 

Who,  so  enamored  of  their  strain, 

Sing  while  the  others,  in  the  grain, 

With  voiceless  but  industrious  beaks, 

Feed  well  through  all  the  harvest  weeks. 

But  pour  me  from  your  frolic  heart 

A  sample  of  your  vocal  art." 

His  simple  tongue  no  urging  stayed, 
And  thus  the  call  for  song  was  paid. 

SONG. 


Where  the  peaks  first  greet  the  morn, 
"Where  the  mighty  streams  are  born, — 
Streams  that  sweep  from  east  to  west, 
Bearing  great  arks  on  their  breast, — 
Where  the  eagle  rears  her  young 
Barren  rocks  and  pines  among, 
There's  a  child  which  knows  no  fear, 
In  the  home  of  the  mountaineer. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  55 

II. 

Oft  among  the  forests  wild 

The  lone  woodman  hears  the  child 

Singing  with  the  earliest  dawn, 

And  his  playmate  is  a  fawn : 

"When  that  fawn's  broad  antlers  spring, 

They  shall  hear  him  louder  sing ; 

Then  his  startling  song  shall  cheer 

Far  and  wide  the  mountaineer. 

III. 

Then  his  hero-hand  shall  take 
In  its  grasp  a  crested  snake, 
And  its  front,  so  proudly  crowned, 
Shall  be  humbled  to  the  ground, — 
Humbled,  trampled  in  the  sand, — 
And  no  longer  fright  the  land ; 
Then  the  world  shall  thrill  to  hear 
Songs  of  that  young  mountaineer. 

The  listener,  halfway  frowning,  smiled, 
And  said,  "Perchance  you  are  that  child 
Far  wandering  from  your  mountains  wild, 
And  full  of  those  obnoxious  songs 
But  fit  for  rebel  ears  and  tongues?" 


56  THE   WAGONER  OF 

"  Oh,  no !"  the  laughing  youth  replied : 
"  Although  I  come  from  the  mountain-side, 
My  songs  I  learned  from  a  schoolman  gray, 
Who,  when  the  children  went  to  play, 
Oft  called  us  round  him  in  a  ring, 
And,  singing,  taught  us  all  to  sing." 

Then  Berkley's  brow  relaxed  his  frown, 
And  he  looked  still  more  kindly  down  ; 
For  there  was  something  in  that  voice 
Which  made  him  sigh  and  yet  rejoice ; 
And  then  he  cried,  "Come  in !  come  in  ! — 
I  care  not  what  your  kith  or  kin, 
Your  face  and  singing  please  me  well ; 
And,  if  you  will,  here  may  you  dwell, 
And  be,  till  your  maturer  age, 
A  gentle  lady's  faithful  page." 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  57 


IV. 


THE    WELCOME. 

DAYS  past ;  and  now  from  Berkley  Hall, 
When  evening  sped  her  herald  star, 

Gay  music,  with  wild  rise  and  fall, 

Streamed  on  the  air ;  the  windows  all 
Shot  their  red  beams  of  splendor  far, 

Firing  the  dark  like  beacon-torches  ; 

While,  like  a  wedding-train,  there  flowed 
Gay  coaches  up  the  winding  road, 

Grating  the  gravel  near  the  porches. 

Form  after  form,  in  rich  attire 

Of  gems  and  rustling  garments  bright, 
Swept  like  shadows  out  of  the  night 
Into  the  sudden  blaze  of  light, 

Gleaming  as  in  a  robe  of  fire. 


58  THE   WAGONER  OF 

The  peasant  on  the  distant  slope, 

Agaze  at  joys  beyond  his  hope, 

Believing  the  world  was  what  it  seemed, — 

Alas  that  others  should  be  more  wise  ! — 
Beheld  them  glide,  as  he  fondly  deemed, 

Into  a  transient  paradise. 
Along  the  casements  he  saw  them  pass, 
As  phantoms  on  the  flaming  glass ; 
And  when  the  music  awoke  the  dance, 
Like  shadows  they  seemed  to  sway  and  glance, 
Or  revellers  seen  in  a  dreamer's  trance. 

Fond  soul,  could  some  kind  sprite  have  shown 

Some  hearts  beneath  those  robes  and  gems, 
The  smile  without,  within  the  groan, 
He  had  not  sighed  that,  poor,  unknown, 
He  stood  apart  in  the  open  air, 
Or  bartered  his  peace  with  the  proudest  there 

To  wear  the  wealth  of  diadems. 
On  the  side  of  the  neighboring  height 
He  saw  the  modest  cottage  light 
Gleam,  like  a  glow-worm  in  the  night, 

Through  the  foliage  deep  and  dark : 
Strange  contrast  to  the  splendor  bright 

Burning  in  midst  of  Berkley  Park. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  59 

And  could  the  marvelling  man  have  seen 

As  clearly  into  that  home  serene 

As  into  that  glittering  hall  of  pride, — 

Have  seen  the  pastor's  patriarch  hair 
Bending  over  the  volume  wide, 

And  heard  the  old  clock  on  the  stair 

Saying  its  "Amen"  to  the  prayer, 
And,  when  the  evening  hymn  was  sung, 
Joining  with  its  silver  tongue, — 
He  had  not  sighed  o'er  his  station  mean, 

While  hearkening  to  that  worldly  din, 

Nor  envied  the  tinsel  triumph  thin 
Of  the  stateliest  hero  of  the  scene. 
But  hearts  are  human  moths,  alas  ! 
Fluttering  against  the  glittering  glass, 
Flying  from  Nature's  flowery  ways 
To  worship  and  die  at  a  transient  blaze. 

Within,  beneath  the  chandeliers, 
Wealth,  envious  of  her  two  compeers, 
Beauty  and  Wit,  her  shoulders  bare, 
Strode  with  her  diamond  front  in  air. 

There  Beauty  walked,  too  oft  a  shell, 
A  bower  of  roses  round  a  cell, 


60 


.THE   WAGONER   OF 

A  casket  exquisitely  bright, 

With  not  a  jewel  hid  from  sight ; 

Like  those  proud  piles  by  travellers  found 

In  foreign  lands,  with  statues  crowned, 

Covered  with  all  that  charms  the  eye, 

While  within  sits  Poverty, 

Cowering  in  the  ancestral  dust, 

With  scarce  an  ember  or  a  crust. 

And  Wit,  with  sparkling  glance,  was  there, 

With  flashing  words  of  transient  glare, 

Of  satire  or  of  flattery, — 

Thoughts  that  lorded  or  bowed  the  knee : 

They  who  lord  it  with  haughtiest  brow 

Have  ever  the  supplest  knees  to  bow. 

All  these,  Wealth,  Beauty,  Wit,  bright  three,- 

Grraces  they  were  by  Heaven  designed, 
But  oftener  grow,  through  vanity, 

The  vices  that  ensnare  the  mind. 

But  there  was  one  in  whom  these  three 

Were  joined  in  sweetest  unity, — 

To  all  the  Virtues  reconciled, 

But  chiefly  Charity's  favorite  child. 

So  bright  the  spirit  her  form  enshrined, 
So  clearly  the  face  displayed  the  mind, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  61 

That  the  coldest  gazer's  heart  'gan  melt, 
And,  in  after-days  of  memory,  felt 

A  kindlier  impulse  toward  his  kind : 
And  it  was  all  to  welcome  her 
The  glittering  groups  collected  were. 

Through  the  crowd,  on  her  father's  arm, — 
How  proud  he  was  !  how  very  proud  ! — 

She  passed,  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  warm 
Cleaving  its  way  through  a  broken  cloud. 

First  there  was  silence, — breaths  long  drawn, 
As  they  would  breathe  her  beauty  in, 
And  eyes  full-orbed,  as  they  would  win 

New  light  from  her  enchanted  dawn ; 

And  then  the  sudden  whisper  stirred, 

Like  winds  within  the  aspens  heard. 

The  proud  man  caught  the  applause  around, 

That  thrilled  his  depths  of  pride  profound, 

"Where  it  echoed,  like  a  bugle  wound 

Near  caverns  that  prolong  the  sound. 

Then  to  her  throned  harp  he  led, 
Where  lustre  of  gold  and  pearl  was  shed, 
Like  the  light  that  flushed  the  air 

Around  the  maiden's  pearl-looped  hair. 
6 


62  THE  WAGONER   OF 

A  moment  her  timorous  fingers  tried 
The  chords  that  tremorously  replied, 
Like  reeds  beside  a  little  lake 
Warned  by  a  breeze  ere  the  winds  awake : 
She  toyed  with  the  prelude ;  but  not  long 
The  herald  notes  foreran  the  song. 

SONG. 

I. 

What  though  my  feet  have  wandered  far 

Through  groves  and  lawns  of  antique  shores, 
Where  ever  to  the  morning  star 

The  enamored  lark  her  love-song  pours, 
And  through  enchanted  woods  and  vales 

Romance  still  walks,  a  spirit  free, 
Thrilled  by  the  poet-nightingales : 

I  turn,  dear  native  land,  to  thee. 

II. 
It  is  not  that  thy  giant  floods 

Sweep  seaward  with  unrivalled  flow  ; 
It  is  not  that  thy  pathless  woods 

Have  majesty  no  others  show  ; 
Not  for  thy  matchless  inland  seas, 

Wider  than  eagle's  eye  discerns, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  63 

Nor  mountains  vast ; — 'tis  not  for  these 
My  heart,  dear  land,  to  thee  returns  : — • 

in. 
Not  for  thy  seasons,  though  they  sweep 

From  unknown  continents  of  ice, 
Or,  waked  in  tropic  forests  deep, 

Bring  summer  from  the  land  of  spice ; 
Not  that  thy  fiery  forest-trees, 

At  harvest-close,  with  splendors  burn 
In  hues  triumphant ; — not  for  these 

To  thee,  dear  land,  my  steps  return. — 

IV. 
Not  only  that  my  native  hearth 

Is  shrined  among  thy  greenest  hills, 
Or  that  my  earliest  infant  mirth 

Was  learned  among  thy  flowers  and  rills, 
But,  chiefly,  that  before  thee  opes 

A  glorious  future,  grand  and  free, 
And  thou  hast  all  my  brightest  hopes, — 

For  this,  dear  land,  I  turn  to  thee. 


To  give  the  words  by  a  maiden  sung 
After  they  have  passed  her  tongue, 


64  .  THE   WAGONER   OP 

When  more  than  half  of  all  the  grace 
Was  in  her  voice  and  on  her  face, 
Is  but  to  Tender  a  cup  long  drawn, 
With  all  its  effervescence  gone ; 
'Tis  but  to  treasure  in  after-hours 
The  garland  of  faded  and  dewless  flowers 
That  in  the  flood  of  the  banquet-light 
Made  the  wearer's  brow  more  bright. 
Had  another  dared  the  same  to  sing, 
They  had  denounced  it  a  rebel  thing ; 
But  from  her  lips  could  come  no  wrong : 
So  they  praised  the  singer  and  the  song. 

Mid  those  who  listened,  too  rapt  to  praise, 

Like  blossoms  that  close  in  the  sun's  full  blaze, 

Folding  the  ecstasy  into  the  heart 

In  silence,  lest  the  smallest  part 

Should  exhale  on  the  breath  of  joy  exprest, 

Stood  one,  a  chance-invited  guest, 

Half  hidden  by  a  curtain's  fold, 

Too  modest  and  proud  to  be  more  bold, 

A  youth — the  neighboring  pastor's  son — • 

Whose  mind  and  mien  had  already  won 

The  wide  applause  which  oft  exalts 

Till  envy  finds  the  virtues  faults. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES. 


A  student  he  was,  with  cheeks  grown  pale, 
Long  bleached  in  that  scholastic  vale 
Where  mild-eyed  Meditation  camps 
Among  her  midnight  books  and  lamps. 

But  as  he  stood  and  heard  her  sing, 
And  gazed  with  charmed  lips  apart, 
The  joy  long  nestling  in  his  heart 

Flew  to  his  cheek  on  flaming  wing. 

So  feels  the  prisoner  when  his  cell 

Flies  open,  as  by  a  miracle ; 

So  glows  he,  breathing  what  freedom  yields 

That  first  hour  in  the  summer  fields. 

Yes ;  love,  and  wonder,  and  delight, 
All  three  into  his  breast  took  flight ; 
And  those  who  knew  young  Edgar  best 
Noted  the  change  on  his  face  confessed. 

Near  by,  with  scarlet  coat  and  plume, 
Like  a  bonfire  in  the  room, 
An  officer  of  the  royal  troops 
Blazed  among  the  admiring  groups, 
Who,  when  his  eye  approval  glanced, 
Or  when  he  spoke  the  applauding  word, 

Deemed  Berkley's  honor  was  advanced ; 
6* 


UNIVERSITY 


66 


THE   WAGONER   OF 


And  lie,  too,  felt  a  new  delight, 
And  deigned  from  his  great  warrior  height 
To  stoop,  and  own  his  heart  was  stirred. 

Outside,  in  the  stars'  still  light, 
Like  a  spirit  of  the  night, 
Pressing  close  to  the  window-pane, 
"With  eyes  of  wonder  and  mirth  insane, 
There  looked  a  face  which  shunned  the  gaze, 
Coming  and  going,  as  a  shadow  plays 
When  the  wind,  with  rise  and  fall, 
Sways  the  elm-shade  on  the  wall. 

This  with  a  smile  the  maiden  saw, 

Saw  it  come  and  then  withdraw ; 

And  oft  they  knew  not  why  she  smiled, 
Nor  saw  the  vision  strange  and  wild 

Which. she  beheld  with  looks  of  joy,— 

The  frolic-hearted  truant  boy. 
Thus  oft  beside  a  delirious  child 

The  watchers  see  upon  its  face 

Expressions  which  they  cannot  trace, 

And  where  its  eyes  so  fondly  turn 

They  look,  but  nothing  can  discern, 

Still  conscious  of  a  presence  near 

Of  what  they  cannot  see  or  hear. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  67 

After  the  supper  and  the  wine, 

Where  flowed  the  Moselle  and  the  Khine, 

And  Burgundy  and  prouder  Spain, 

Disputing,  held  divided  reign, — 

For  Berkley  deemed  the  worst  of  faults 

Poor  brands,  or  scant-provided  vaults, — • 

Out  they  sallied  into  the  air ; 

And  the  great  white  moon  was  there. 

In  merry  groups  about  the  green 

They  strolled,  and  praised  the  night  serene ; 

Here  the  laugh  and  there  the  song 

Waked  from  sleep  the  feathery  throng, 

Nested  in  the  vernal  realms 

Of  the  poplars  and  the  elms. 

Their  heads  unsheathing  from  the  wing, 
Some,  which  only  the  dark  makes  dumb, 
Wondered  if  the  dawn  had  come, — 

The  time  to  deck  their  plumes  and  sing. 

In  the  grove  the  whip-poor-will 

Forgot  his  story,  and  sat  still : 

But  all  who  tell  a  tale  of  pain 

Know  well  the  place  to  begin  again. 

Music  on  a  waveless  stream 

Where  the  stars  and  moonshine  gleam, 


THE   WAGONER   OF 

While  the  light  oar  noiseless  dips, 
And  then,  lifting,  brightly  drips, 
As  if  hung  with  pearl-strings  rare, 
Caught  from  the  water-spirits'  hair ; 
Then  the  music-freighted  boat 
Seems  some  fairy  ark  afloat, 
Filled  with  groups  of  airy  elves 
Playing  to  delight  themselves, 
Blowing  marvellous  instruments, 
With  a  thrill  of  joy  intense, 
Until  the  sounds  that  ring  afar 
Seem  blown  from  many  a  clarion  star ; 
Or  as  the  thin  rays  of  the  moon, 
By  some  marvellous  alchemy, 
Were  changed  from  light  to  melody, 
One-half  lustre,  one-half  tune ; 
Or  as  the  veil  of  the  other  world 
Were  partly  lifted,  partly  furled, 
And  underneath  the  soft  notes  born 
In  the  eternal  fields  of  morn 
Were  wafted,  on  the  wings  of  bliss, 
Out  of  that  realm  into  this. 

Such  were  the  sounds  there  heard  to  flow 
From  off  the  winding  stream  below, — 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  69 

Till  suddenly  a  clattering  steed 
Dashed  up  the  road  in  furious  speed; 
But  soon  the  checking  rein  was  drawn, 
And  now  the  rider  gained  the  lawn. 

And  into  Berkley's  ear  apart 

He  breathed  a  word  that  thrilled  his  heart; 

And  then  from  group  to  group  it  passed, 

Quaking  the  breast  from  first  to  last : 

Something  about  a  rebel  troop, 

Like  an  eagle,  soon  to  swoop ; 

How  some  of  that  obnoxious  clan, 

With  horrid  noise  of  horn  and  pan,(1) 

Had  borne  in  mockery  up  and  down, 

In  a  rough  and  jolting  car, 
The  noisiest  Tory  of  the  town, 

And  only  spared  the  plumes  and  tar 
Because  they  deemed  the  honor  due 
To  loyalists  of  deeper  hue. 
And  it  was  said,  and  well  believed, 
And  much  the  king's  supporters  grieved, 
That  many  a  secret  rebel  band 
Was  swiftly  forming  through  the  land ; 
Nor  could  the  wisest  well  divine 
The  object  of  their  full  design, 


70  THE  WAGONER  OF 

But  knew  it  much  behooved  them  each 

To  be  prepared  or  out  of  reach. 

And — who  could  tell  ? — before  they  knew, 

Some  lawless  and  marauding  crew — • 

None  guessed  their  number  or  their  power — 

Might  choose  in  such  a  festive  hour 

To  burst  into  their  midst  and  lay 

A  tax  which  it  were  hard  to  pay. 

Scarce  was  the  warning  heard  before 
There  was  swift  mounting  at  Berkley  door, 
And  jostling  hurry  down  roads  of  dust, 
As  if  they  fled  from  a  thunder-gust ! 
They  swept  along  the  highway  white, 
Like  autumn  leaves  before  the  wind 
Which  heralds  the  drowning  storm  behind, 
And  round  the  far  hill  passed  from  sight. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  71 


V. 

THE   UNWELCOME. 

PROUD  Berkley,  while  his  arm  was  placed 
Around  his  daughter's  slender  waist, 
As  up  the  lawn  they  swiftly  paced, 
Called  loudly  to  his  men  in  haste 
To  make  the  outer  gates  secure, 
To  bar  and  lock  the  stable-door, 
Then  loose  the  iron  kennel-check 
From  off  the  savage  mastiff's  neck. 

But  scarce  their  feet  had  pressed  the  floor 
Beside  the  open  entrance-door, 
When  still  he  heard  the  revelling  din 
Of  some  who  drank  and  laughed  within. 
Then  cried  the  host,  in  gayer  strain, 

"  It  seems  some  lingering  guests  remain, 

71 


72  THE   WAGONER   OF 

To  praise  those  old  Burgundiaii  casks 
Or  compliment  the  Rhenish  flasks. 
This  suits  me  well.     I'll  bid  them  stay 
And  revel  till  the  break  of  day ; 
For  where  such  manly  mirth  is  made 
No  rebel  band  will  dare  invade." 

He  paced  the  hall  like  a  generous  host, 
And  laughed  to  hear  the  loud  uproar, 
Then  cried,  as  he  swung  the  festive  door, 

"  Fill  up,  my  friends,  to  a  loyal  toast ! 
Fill  high  !" — but,  at  the  sight  revealed, 
Some  sudden  paces  backward  reeled, 
Like  a  stunned  warrior  on  the  field, 

And  stood  a  moment  dumb  and  lost, 

Like  one  who  meets  a  midnight  ghost. 

Then  stammered,  "If  my  sight  be  true, 

This  is  an  honor  scarcely  due. 

To  what  may  I  ascribe,  strange  sirs, 

The  presence  of  such  visitors?" 

"  To  what,"  cried  one,  with  the  voice  of  a  gale 
That  laughs  through  an  Alleghanian  pine, 
"  But  to  drink  your  health  in  good  red  wine 

Till  its  hue  returns  to  your  cheek  so  pale  ?" 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  73 

And  then  the  dozen  sturdy  men 
Laughed,  and  brimmed  their  cups  again, 
And  drained  them  to  the  hearty  toast 
Of  Berkley  Manor  and  its  host. 

'Twas  hard  to  see  his  dear  old  wines, 

The  heart's  blood  of  the  noblest  vines, 

Poured  by  a  rough  and  sunburnt  hand 

To  nourish  the  souls  of  a  rebel  band. 

He  heard  the  very  wine's  heart  throb 

As  it  flowed  from  the  flask  with  a  sigh  and  a  sob ; 

The  bubbles  that  wept  around  each  rim 

Looked  with  imploring  eyes  at  him. 

Then  swelled  that  gusty  voice  once  more, 
As  the  speaker  rose  full  six  feet  four : — 
"  That  loyal  toast  you  left  unsaid, 
To  spare  your  breath,  I  propose  instead  ; 
And  let  the  craven,  who  dares,  resist 
To  drink  the  toast  of  a  loyalist !" 

Sir  Hugh  a  moment  felt  relieved : 

That  word, — perchance  he  had  been  deceived ; 

They  surely  could  no  rebels  be 

Who  proffered  toasts  to  loyal  ty. 


74  THE   WAGONER   OF 

A  goblet  into  his  hand  was  thrust, 
Brimming  and  dripping,  and  drink  he  must. 

"  Here's  to  our  royal  governors, 

And  every  man  who  such  prefers ! 

May  Heaven  on  their  advancement  smile 

In  their  speedy  return  to  their  native  isle  I" 

Before  his  sense  the  words  explained, 
The  lifted  cup  was  wellnigh  drained. 
Then  burst  the  intruders'  laughter-roar, 

"While  stood  the  host  with  bewildered  brain. 
They  rose  and  bowed,  and  said  no  more, 
And  now  behind  them  slammed  the  door : 

He  heard  them  descend  the  river-lane 
With  laugh  and  song,  and  all  was  o'er. 
They  had  come  like  a  sudden  burst  of  rain, 
And,  like  a  gust,  withdrew  again, — 
Their  voices  dying  beyond  the  lawn, 
Like  rumbling  clouds  when  the  storm  is  gone. 

Then  in  chagrin  he  dashed  the  glass 
Down  to  the  floor,  a  shattered  mass, 
And  glared  thereon,  till,  laughing,  came, 
Queen  of  the  keys,  the  brave  house-dame,— - 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  75 

A  woman  tall  and  somewhat  sere, 

But,  like  October,  calm  and  clear ; 

Her  dark  eye  still  retained  its  ray, 

Her  hair  its  gloss,  though  touched  with  gray. 

She  cried,  "You  had  strange  guests  to-night, 

And  such  not  often  you  invite : 

Did  but  the  world  know  who  were  here, 

Yours  would  a  rebel  name  appear." 

To  which  Sir  Hugh,  with  anger  red, 

"  May  a  thousand  plagues  light  on  each  head ! 

I  cannot  guess  what  men  they  be  : 
I  only  know  they  drank  my  wine ; — 
"Would  they  might  hang,  a  scarecrow  line, 

On  the  next  lightning-blasted  tree  !" 

Hulda  replied,  "Unless  I  err, 

I  heard  a  voice  I  have  heard  before : 

Each  tone  of  his  is  a  clinging  burr, 

That  from  the  memory  will  not  stir. — 
Though  it  is  full  ten  years,  or  more, 
Since  last  I  heard  his  laughter-roar, 
Or  his  great  stride  along  the  floor, 

I  would  know,  though  twice  as  long  it  were, 

Kingbolt,  the  wilful  wagoner." 


76  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Then,  in  silence  and  in  gloom, 

The  proud  man  passed  to  his  private  room, 

And  paced  the  floor,  in  spirit  vexed, 

With  dusky  fancies  sore  perplexed, — 

Thought  of  his  daughter,  thought  of  his  pride, 

And  of  a  hundred  things  beside. 

But  soon  o'er  his  soul  of  turbulence 

The  quiet  stole,  and  soothed  the  sense, 

As  silence  with  its  hand  at  last 

Smooths  the  pool  where  the  storm  has  passed. 

But  hark ! — was  it  the  rising  wind 
Swinging  the  boughs  on  the  window-blind  ? 
Or  chimney-swallows  come  anew, 

And  talking  in  the  sooty  cavern, 
Conversing  as  room-mate  travellers  do 

Ere  they  go  to  sleep  in  a  wayside  tavern? 
Or  was  it  some  burglarious  crew, 

With  many  a  stealthy  gouge  and  scratch, 
Working  their  way  from  screw  to  screw, 

Mining  around  the  bolt  and  latch, 
With  jar  and  screech,  by  sure  degrees, 
Or  torturing  locks  with  skeleton  keys  ? 

His  heart  beat  loud :  he  spake  no  word, 
But  seized  two  pistols  and  a  sword ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  77 

With  cautious  hand  he  oped  the  door, — 
It  creaked  as  it  never  creaked  before, — 
Then  descended  the  stair ;  in  his  soul  he  vowed 
He  never  knew  them  to  crack  so  loud. 

At  every  step  he  seemed  to  hear 

The  noises  more  distinct  and  near ; 

Now  at  the  pistol-pans  he  tapped, 

And  cocked  the  flints, — how  loud  they  snapped ! — 

Then  followed  the  sounds  with  breathless  care, 

Here  encountered  a  table,  and  there  a  chair, 

Till  it  seemed  as  if  to  retard  his  pace 

Each  article  had  changed  its  place. 

The  wave  of  every  curtain's  fold 

Now  made  his  trembling  heart  less  bold, 

Lest,  issuing  from  the  midnight  air, 

His  phantom  bride  should  meet  him  there, 

With  wild  mysterious  eyes  to  peer 

Into  his  shuddering  soul  of  fear. 

But  now  he  gained  the  parlor-door 
The  noise  was  louder  than  before, — 
A  strange,  mad  music, — a  grate, — ajar, — 
Like  a  maniac  trying  to  tune  a  guitar.  • 


78  THE   WAGONER   OF 

By  inch  and  by  inch,  he  opened  the  door, 

Saw  long  phantom  windows  stretch  over  the  floor, 

Made  by  the  moon,  and  in  the  full  flood, 

Up  at  the  end  where  the  golden  harp  stood, 

Beheld — and  his  heart  strangely  thrilled  at  the 

sight — 
The  cause  of  the  noises,  the  source  of  his  fright. 

He  gazed  with  anger  mixed  with  joy, 
As  he  beheld  the  marvellous  boy, — 
Anger  at  the  fears  unbounded, 
Joy  that  they  had  proved  unfounded : 
One  long  relieving  breath  he  drew, 
Then  gazed  with  silent,  steadfast  view. 

Close  to  the  harp  the  urchin  prest 
And  clasped  it  fondly  to  his  breast, 
Then  softly  o'er  his  fingers  stirred, 
To  wake  the  tones  he  late  had  heard ; 
Now  stopped  among  the  bass  perplexed, 
Then  tried  the  tinkling  treble  next ; 
Now  over  all  his  wild  hands  sped, 
And  then,  despairing,  he  shook  his  head ; 
His  large  eyes,  wondering,  seemed  to  say 
The  music  had  gone  with  the  maid  away. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  79 

Then  he  arose,  with  puzzled  air, 

And  gazed  upon  the  pictures  there, 

Marvelling  much  that  such  things  were, 

All  so  alive,  and  yet  no  stir : 

And  now  he  climbed  into  the  niche 

Where  stood  the  suit  of  armor  rich, 

With  golden  tracery  embossed, 

And  gazed  on  it  in  wonder  lost, 

From  head  to  foot,  with  searching  scan, 

Surveyed  the  marvellous  iron  man ; 

Then,  with  a  hand  that  nothing  feared, 

The  visor  carefully  upreared, — 

While  Berkley  saw,  with  a  shudder  of  dread, 

The  horrid  yawn  of  that  iron  head, — 

Looked  calmly  in,  and  nothing  saw, 

Then  closed  it,  having  felt  no  awe. 

Methinks  to  the  angel  of  Peace  'twould  be 
A  charmed  and  sacred  sight  to  see 
A  child  by  an  offcast  coat  of  war, 
Who  dreamed  not  what  'twas  fashioned  foi. 
Heaven  send  the  time  when  bloody  Mars 
Shall  only  be  known  among  the  stars, 
v  And  his  armor,  with  its  thousand  scars, 
In  a  niche,  as  a  curious  thing,  be  bound, 
And  peered  into,  and  nothing  found ! 


80  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Oh,  would  some  sweet  bird  of  the  South(2) 
Might  build  in  every  cannon's  mouth, 
Till  the  only  sound  from  its  rusty  throat 
Should  be  the  wren's  or  the  bluebird's  note, 
That  doves  might  find  a  safe  resort 
In  the  embrasures  of  every  fort ! 

Again  to  the  harp  the  urchin  passed, 

And  sat  him  down,  subdued  and  tame, 
And  seeming  overweighed  at  last, 

He  leaned  against  the  golden  frame ; 
His  black  hair  drooped  along  the  strings, 
Like  a  fainting  night-bird's  wings ; 
A  long  sigh  heaved  his  tired  breast, 
And  slumber  soothed  him  into  rest. 

There,  like  a  spirit  bright  and  good, 
The  guardian  moon  above  him  stood : 
She  kissed  his  cheeks,  caressed  his  hair, 
And  filled  with  happy  dreams  the  air, 
Till  the  smile  which  o'er  his  features  strayed 
The  pleasure  at  his  heart  betrayed. 

Sir  Hugh  approached  the  sleeping  child, 
And  stood  with  wondering  thoughts  beguiled. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  81 

How  beautiful  the  picture  there ! — 

The  gold  harp  propping  the  weary  head, 

The  flashing  cords,  the  shadowy  hair, 
And  over  all  the  moonshine  shed ! 

That  slumbering  face,  it  touched  his  heart, 
And  bade  the  puzzled  memories  start ; 
He  had  seen  it  in  a  dream  before, — 
A  dream  long  gone  to  come  no  more. 

To  keep  the  weary  sleeper  warm, 

He  spread  a  mantle  where  he  lay, 
And  pressed  it  softly  round  his  form, 

Then  turned  with  noiseless  feet  away, 
And  left  him  there  to  dream  at  large, 
The  shadows'  and  the  white  moon's  charge. 


82  THE   WAGONER  OF 


VI. 

THE    RISING. 

OUT  of  the  North  the  wild  news  came, 
Far  flashing  on  its  wings  of  flame, 
Swift  as  the  boreal  light  which  flies 
At  midnight  through  the  startled  skies. 

And  there  was  tumult  in  the  air, 

The  fife's  shrill  note,  the  drum's  loud  beat, 
And  through  the  wide  land  everywhere 

The  answering  tread  of  hurrying  feet, 
While  the  first  oath  of  Freedom's  gun 
Came  on  the  blast  from  Lexington. 
And  Concord,  roused,  no  longer  tame, 
Forgot  her  old  baptismal  name, 
Made  bare  her  patriot  arm  of  power, 
And  swelled  the  discord  of  the  hour. 

82 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  83 

The  strife  was  loud,  the  time  was  wild, 

When  from  the  sky  Heaven's  favorite  child, 

Sweet  Liberty,  in  joy  descended ; 
A  veil  of  lightning  round  her  clung, 
Whereon  the  stars  of  morning  hung, 
While  o'er  her  head  Jove's  eagle  swung, 

With  all  his  thunderbolts  attended. 

She  came  with  Victory  hand  in  hand, 
Whose  flashing  eyes  and  streaming  hair 

And  gleaming  robes  and  flaming  brand 
Shot  splendor  through  the  dusky  air, 

And  gladdened  the  awakening  land. 

Wild  was  the  night ;  but  wilder  still 
The  day  which  saw  those  sisterebright, 
In  all  their  beauty  and  their  might, 
Hanging  above  the  battle-stroke, 
Waving  like  banners  through  the  smoke 

That  veiled  the  heights  of  Bunker  Hill. 

The  field  was  wellnigh  won,  when,  lo ! 

From  the  enraged  and  reeling  foe 

Another  charge,  another  blow, 

That  reached  and  smote  the  patriot  chief. 

Pale  Liberty  recoiled  a  pace, 

And  for  a  moment  veiled  her  face ; 


84  THE   WAGONER   OF 

While  Victory  o'er  her  hero  prest, 
And  wildly  wept  on  Warren's  breast 

The  first  tears  of  her  grief. 
Alas  !  that  moment  was  her  cost : — 
When  she  looked  up,  the  field  was  lost. 

"  Lost  ?  lost  ?"  she  cried.     "  It  shall  not  be, 
While  Justice  holds  her  throne  on  high ! 

By  Heaven !  for  every  martyr  dead, 

For  every  sacred  drop  here  shed 

From  out  the  brave  hearts  of  the  free, 
The  foe  shall  doubly  bleed  and  die !" 

Such  was  the  voice  that  fiercely  rung 

From  brave  New  England's  rocks  and  pines  : 
Such  were  the  notes  that  echo  flung 
Far  southward,  from  its  clarion  tongue, 

Through  all  the  Alleghanian  lines ; 
And  every  homestead  heard  the  call, 
And  one  great  answer  flamed  through  all. 

Each  sacred  hearthstone,  deep  and  wide, 

Through  many  a  night  glowed  bright  and  full  ; 

The  matron's  great  wheel  at  its  side 
No  more  devoured  the  carded  wool. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  85 

And  now  the  maiden's  smaller  wheel 

No  longer  felt  the  throbbing  tread, 
But  stood  beside  the  idle  reel 

Among  its  idle  flax  and  thread. 
No  more  the  jovial  song  went  round, 

No  more  the  ringing  laugh  was  heard ; 
But  every  voice  had  a  solemn  sound, 

And  some  stern  purpose  filled  each  word. 

The  yeoman  and  the  yeoman's  son, 
With  knitted  brows  and  sturdy  dint, 

Eenewed  the  polish  of  each  gun, 
Ke-oiled  the  lock,  reset  the  flint ; 

And  oft  the  maid  and  matron  there, 

While  kneeling  in  the  firelight  glare, 

Long  poured,  with  half-suspended  breath, 

The  lead  into  the  moulds  of  death. 

The  hands  by  Heaven  made  silken  soft 

To  soothe  the  brow  of  love  or  pain, 
Alas  !  are  dulled  and  soiled  too  oft 

By  some  unhallowed  earthly  stain ; 
But  under  the  celestial  bound 
No  nobler  picture  can  be  found 
Than  woman,  brave  in  word  and  deed, 
Thus  serving  in  her  nation's  need  : 


86 


THE   WAGONER  OF 


Her  love  is  with  her  country  now, 
Her  hand  is  on  its  aching  brow. 


THE    BRAVE   AT   HOME. 
I. 

The  maid  who  binds  her  warrior's  sash 

With  smile  that  well  her  pain  dissembles, 
The  while  beneath  her  drooping  lash 

One  starry  tear-drop  hangs  and  trembles, 
Though  Heaven  alone  records  the  tear, 

And  Fame  shall  never  know  her  story, 
Her  heart  has  shed  a  drop  as  dear 

As  e'er  bedewed  the  field  of  glory  ! 

II. 

The  wife  who  girds  her  husband's  sword, 

Mid  little  ones  who  weep  or  wonder, 
And  bravely  speaks  the  cheering  word, 

What  though  her  heart  be  rent  asunder, 
Doomed  nightly  in  her  dreams  to  hear 

The  bolts  of  death  around  him  rattle, 
Hath  shed  as  sacred  blood  as  e'er 

Was  poured  upon  the  field  of  battle ! 


THE   ALLEGHANIES. 


III. 

The  mother  who  conceals  her  grief 

While  to  her  breast  her  son  she  presses, 
Then  breathes  a  few  brave  words  and  brief, 

Kissing  the  patriot  brow  she  blesses, 
With  no  one  but  her  secret  Grod 

To  know  the  pain  that  weighs  upon  her, 
Sheds  holy  blood  as  e'er  the  sod 

Eeceived  on  Freedom's  field  of  honor ! 


Within  its  shade  of  elm  and  oak 

The  church  of  Berkley  Manor  stood : 

There  Sunday  found  the  rural  folk, 
And  some  esteemed  of  gentle  blood. 

In  vain  their  feet  with  loitering  tread 

Passed  mid  the  graves  where  rank  is  naught 
All  could  not  read  the  lesson  taught 

In  that  republic  of  the  dead. 

How  sweet  the  hour  of  Sabbath  talk, 
The  vale  with  peace  and  sunshine  full, 

Where  all  the  happy  people  walk, 

Decked  in  their  homespun  flax  and  wool ! 


88  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Where  youths'  gay  hats  with  blossoms  bloom ; 
And  every  maid,  with  simple  art, 
Wears  on  her  breast,  like  her  own  heart, 

A  bud  whose  depths  are  all  perfume; 

While  every  garment's  gentle  stir 

Is  breathing  rose  and  lavender. 

There,  veiled  in  all  the  sweets  that  are 

Blown  from  the  violet's  purple  bosom, 
The  scent  of  lilacs  from  afar, 

Touched  with  the  sweet  shrub's  spicy  blossom, 
Walked  Esther ;  and  the  rustic  ranks 
Stood  on  each  side  like  flowery  banks, 
To  let  her  pass, — a  blooming  aisle, 
Made  brighter  by  her  summer  smile  : 
On  her  father's  arm  she  seemed  to  be 
The  last  green  bough  of  that  haughty  tree. 

The  pastor  came ;  his  snowy  locks 

Hallowed  his  brow  of  thought  and  care ; 

And,  calmly  as  shepherds  lead  their  flocks, 
He  led  into  the  house  of  prayer. 

Forgive  the  student  Edgar  there 

If  his  enchanted  eyes  would  roam, 

And  if  his  thoughts  soared  not  beyond, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  89 

And  if  his  heart  glowed  warmly  fond 
Beneath  his  hopes'  terrestrial  dome. 
To  him  the  maiden  seemed  to  stand, 

Veiled  in  the  glory  of  the  morn, 

At  the  bar  of  the  heavenly  bourne, 
A  guide  to  the  golden  holy  land. 
When  came  the  service'  low  response, 

Hers  seemed  an  angel's  answering  tongue ; 

When  with  the  singing  choir  she  sung, 

O'er  all  the  rest  her  sweet  notes  rung, 

As  if  a  silver  bell  were  swung 
Mid  bells  of  iron  and  of  bronze. 

At  times,  perchance, — oh,  happy  chance  ! — 

Their  lifting  eyes  together  met, 

Like  violet  to  violet, 
Casting  a  dewy  greeting  glance. 
For  once  be  Love,  young  Love,  forgiven, 

That  here,  in  a  bewildered  trance, 

He  brought  the  blossoms  of  romance 
And  waved  them  at  the  gates  of  heaven. 

The  pastor  rose  :  the  prayer  was  strong; 
The  psalm  was  warrior  David's  song ; 
The  text,  a  few  short  words  of  might, — 
"  The  Lord  of  hosts  shall  arm  the  right  1" 

8* 


THE   WAGONER   OP 

He  spoke  of  wrongs  too  long  endured, 
Of  sacred  rights  to  be  secured ; 
Then  from  his  patriot  tongue  of  flame 
The  startling  words  for  Freedom  came. 
The  stirring  sentences  he  spake 
Compelled  the  heart  to  glow  or  quake, 
And,  rising  on  his  theme's  broad  wing, 

And  grasping  in  his  nervous  hand 

The  imaginary  battle-brand, 
In  face  of  death  he  dared  to  fling 
Defiance  to  a  tyrant  king. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  his  frame,  renewed 
In  eloquence  of  attitude, 
Rose,  as  it  seemed,  a  shoulder  higher ; 
Then  swept  his  kindling  glance  of  fire 
From  startled  pew  to  breathless  choir ; 
When  suddenly  his  mantle  wide 
His  hands  impatient  flung  aside, 
And,  lo !  he  met  their  wondering  eyes 
Complete  in  all  a  warrior's  guise. (3) 

A  moment  there  was  awful  pause, — 

When  Berkley  cried,  "Cease,  traitor!  cease  I 
God's  temple  is  the  house  of  peace  !" 

The  other  shouted,  "Nay,  not  so, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  91 

When  God  is  with  our  righteous  cause : 
His  holiest  places  then  are  ours, 
His  temples  are  our  forts  and  towers 

That  frown  upon  the  tyrant  foe : 

In  this  the  dawn  of  Freedom's  day 

There  is  a  time  to  fight  and  pray!" 

And  now  before  the  open  door — 

The  warrior-priest  had  ordered  so — • 
The  enlisting  trumpet's  sudden  soar 
Rang  through  the  chapel,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Its  long  reverberating  blow, 
So  loud  and  clear,  it  seemed  the  ear 
Of  dusty  death  must  wake  and  hear. 
And  there  the  startling  drum  and  fife 
Fired  the  living  with  fiercer  life ; 
While  overhead,  with  wild  increase, 
Forgetting  its  ancient  toll  of  peace, 

The  great  bell  swung  as  ne'er  before : 
It  seemed  as  it  would  never  cease ; 
And  every  word  its  ardor  flung 
From  off  its  jubilant  iron  tongue 

Was,  "WAR!  WAR!  WAR!" 

"  Who  dares" — this  was  the  patriot's  cry, 
As  striding  from  the  desk  he  came — 


THE   WAGONEK,   0* 

"  Come  out  with  me,  in  Freedom's  name, 
For  her  to  live,  for  her  to  die  ?" 
A  hundred  hands  flung  up  reply, 
A  hundred  voices  answered,  "I/" 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  93 


VII. 
THE    WEEATH. 

How  sweet  it  is  when  day  is  new, 
And  Summer  is  bathed  in  her  young  dew, 
To  contemplate,  'twixt  sun  and  sod, 
Each  miracle  that  tells  of  God  ! 

Thus  Edgar  mused  in  dreamy  mood, 

Next  morn,  on  the  upland  solitude, 

As,  slowly  pacing,  he  gained  the  site 

Of  the  one  great  oak  that  crowned  the  height. 

He  threw  him  on  a  mossy  mound, 

His  whole  soul  flooded  with  the  sense 

Of  that  delightful  recompense 
Which  ever  in  the  fields  is  found, 
Which  lifts  the  heart  when  tempest-bowed, 

And  sets  the  rainbow  on  the  cloud. 

93 


THE   WAGONER   OF 

He  saw  the  river  where  it  flowed 
Under  the  morn,  a  golden  road, — 
Saw  ships  upon  that  highway  free 
Moving  out  to  a  boundless  sea. 
He  saw  the  mist-dispelling  sun 
Mount,  proudly  conscious  there  was  none 
Sceptred  beside  himself,  to  hold 
High  state  upon  that  throne  of  gold, 
And  thought  of  Freedom's  glorious  light 
Conquering  the  dull  mists  of  night. 
He  saw  the  moon  with  anxious  stare 
Walk  down  the  cloudless  western  air, 
Seeking  the  stars  with  pale  dismay, 

Like  a  shepherdess  whose  flocks 
From  the  fields  have  gone  astray 

Among  dusky  woods  and  rocks, 
In  the  wilderness  to  roam, 
Till  the  eve  shall  bring  them  home. 
But  he  thought  decaying  Tyranny 

Might  search  for  his  lost  flock  in  vain : 
Those  stars  now  seeking  to  be  free 

No  gloomy  eve  should  bring  again. 

Long,  long  he  gazed  on  Berkley  Hall, 
And  then  on  his  native  cottage  small, — 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  95 

The  one  embowered  in  tall,  proud  trees, 
The  one  with  its  woodbine  porch  and  bees ; 
And  never  before  they  struck  his  sense 
With  such  a  hopeless  difference. 
He  felt  how  often  heart  from  heart 
Are  kept  by  the  mason's  walls  apart, 
Even  though  the  doors  were  open,  free, 
As  Wealth  can  afford  his  doors  to  be. 

Gliding  along  the  garden-walks, 

Gathering  blossoms  from  the  stalks, 

He  saw  the  heiress  of  Berkley  Hall, 

And  fancied  he  heard  the  rise  and  fall 

Of  the  melody  he  knew  must  be 

Flooding  her  lips  incessantly  : 

For  song  was  native  to  her  tongue 

As  to  a  runnel  valeward  flung, 

As  wind  to  a  cloud,  as  mist  to  a  fall, 

As  dew  to  the  rose,  and  as  sunshine  to  all. 

His  full  heart  ached  with  love's  sweet  pain, 

Like  a  sealed  fountain,  charged  with  rain, 

That  longs  to  sing  in  the  summer  air, 

Yet  faints  in  its  cavern  of  despair. 

From  plot  to  bower,  from  vase  to  vase, 
Down  to  the  very  garden-base, 


96  THE   WAGONER   OF 

He  watched  her  gliding,  fawnlike  pace ; 
The  branches  bowed  to  her  forehead  fair 
And  shed  their  blooms  on  her  golden  hair. 

Oh,  what  is  so  like  an  embodied  May 
As  a  frolic  maiden,  with  laughter  gay, 
Chasing  her  fancies  as  they  flit 
Out  of  her  heart  of  innocent  wit, 
Shrining  herself  in  the  blowing  bowers, 
Her  tresses  flecked  with  falling  flowers? 

0  Heaven,  when  I  am  old  and  bent, 
And  into  the  valley  deathward  sent, 

Be  the  last  sweet  vision  which  charms  my  way 
A  breathing,  bright,  embodied  May, 
That,  while  I  lean  upon  my  staff, 

1  may  see  her  smile  and  hear  her  laugh, 
That  my  heart  may  be  fresh,  till  its  life  is  null, 
With  the  sun  and  the  dew  of  the  beautiful ! 

A  tree  blown  bright  with  summer  blooms, 
O'errun  with  honeysuckle-vines, 

A  very  fount  of  sweet  perfumes, 

Stood  in  the  garden,  where  the  bees 
Toiled  ever  in  these  murmurous  mines : 

And  Edgar  might  have  envied  these ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  97 

For  some  which  mined  that  odorous  store 
Brought  back  their  sweets  to  his  father's  door. 

Around  this  tree  a  stairway  led 

Into  the  branches  overhead, 

And  there,  mid  spreading  antler-boughs, 

A  little  room  was  fitted  well, 
Where  a  votaress  might  make  her  vows 

Secure  within  her  flowery  cell. 

Such  a  one  there  stands  to-day 

In  a  poet's  garden  far  away, 

Where  on  many  an  afternoon, 

His  great  soul  full  of  marvellous  tune 

Cloistered  among  flowers  and  leaves, 

He  sings,  and  all  the  world  receives. 

Lightly  up  the  vine-like  stair, 

Light  of  heart  and  light  of  foot, 
Flitted  the  maiden  into  the  bower. 
Never  in  enchanted  air 
Held  a  vine  so  fair  a  flower 

Or  tree  so  sweet  a  fruit. 

She  sat ;  the  flickering  sun  and  shade 
Like  winged  sprites  about 'her  played; 


98  THE   WAGONER   OF 

The  wren  peered  in  with  curious  eye, 
The  bluebird  carolled  closely  by, 
The  robin  from  her  nest  above 
Looked,  and  resumed  her  task  of  love. 

The  maiden's  lap  was  full  of  flowers, 
Culled  from  the  lavish  garden-bowers. 
Mid  these  her  fingers  gayly  played, 
Entwining  happy  shade  with  shade, 
And,  as  she  wrought  the  flowers  among, 
Her  sweet  thoughts  rippled  into  song. 


I. 
The  blue-eyed  lady  of  the  morn, 

While  she  wreathes  her  flowers  of  light, 
Knows  for  whom  those  flowers  are  bright, 
By  whom  they  shall  be  worn : 
She  knows  the  golden  locks  of  Day 
Shall  bear  that  flashing  wreath  away. 

II. 
Though  she  knows  their  shape  and  hue 

May  be  crushed  and  tarnished  soon, 

And  the  battle-heat  of  noon 
Waste  their  precious  dew, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  99 

Yet  she  knows  when  day  is  through 
He  shall  wear  his  wreath  anew. 

in. 
Would  I  knew  some  hero  now! 

He  should  wear  the  wreath  I  make. 

Not  for  mine,  but  Freedom's  sake, 
I  would  deck  his  brow  ; 
Should  his  arm  victorious  prove, 
He  should  wear  the  wreath  of  love. 

IV. 
Should  he  fall,  I  would  outgrieve 

All  who  ever  grief  possessed ; 

I  would  weep  upon  his  breast, 
Overveiled  like  dewy  Eve, 
And  above  my  hero  dead 
Pour  my  tears  till  life  had  fled. 


The  music  on  its  golden  wing 

Dropt  from  those  dewy  lips  of  spring ; 

Scarce  had  the  cadence  ceased  to  flow, 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  fleet, 
And  suddenly,  with  cheeks  aglow, 

Young  Edgar  knelt  before  her  feet. 


100  THE   WAGONER  OF 

She  started  with  surprise — not  fear — 
To  find  the  stranger  youth  so  near. 
He  read  the  question  in  her  eye, 
And,  ere  she  spoke,  he  made  reply  : — 

"  Oh,  lady,  if  I  err,  forgive : 
I  know  not,  scarcely,  if  I  live, 
Or  that  it  is  my  soul  is  drawn 
By  witching  music,  on  and  on, 
To  kneel  to  thee  in  holier  guise, 
While  its  poor  dwelling  yonder  lies ! 
I  was  as  one  within  a  land 

Where  all  he  sees  is  dead  and  sere, 
Who  droops  with  thirst,  till  near  at  hand 

He  hears  a  fountain  singing  clear, 
Then,  without  further  question,  flies 
To  find  the  spring  which  life  supplies. 
In  sooth,  the  music  drew  me  near, 
And  left  me,  lady,  kneeling  here. 
I  heard  the  wish  your  song  expressed, 
And  echo  answered  in  my  breast, 
Oh,  bid  me  wear  that  wreath  you  make, 
For  thine  as  well  as  Freedom's  sake !" 

The  maiden's  lips  no  word  replied ; 
But  still  the  youth  could  well  descry 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  101 

That  there  was  pleasure  in  her  eye 
And  that  her  cheek  was  double-dyed. 

A  moment,  with  extended  hands, 
She  held  the  precious  wreath  in  air, 

Looked  in  his  face  her  sweet  commands, 
Then  pressed  it  on  her  hero's  hair, 

And  would  have  fled  with  girlish  bound, 

But  suddenly  a  whirring  sound 

Made  her  light  foot  recoil  a  pace, 

And  drove  the  roses  from  her  face. 

A  winged  arrow  fiercely  near 
Had  lightly  grazed  the  stranger's  ear, 
Dislodged  one  garland-bloom,  and  sunk 
Quivering  in  the  gnarled  trunk, 
And  firmly  there  the  angry  dart 
Transfixed  the  blossom's  odorous  heart. 

Her  flashing  eye  the  maiden  turned : 
One  hurried  glance  the  truth  discerned. 
Near  by,  upon  the  gravel  path, 
Holding  his  attitude  of  wrath, 
The  wild-eyed  boy  defiant  stood. 

His  black  hair  in  a  flashing  flood 
9* 


102  THE   WAGONER  OF 

Flung  back,  the  quivering  bow's  advance, 
The  right  hand  to  the  shoulder  drawn, 

The  knitted  brow,  the  fiery  glance 

Still  following  where  the  dart  had  gone, — 

He  looked  the  great  Apollo's  child, 

Born  in  a  forest  dark  and  wild. 

A  moment  thus  his  posture  kept 
The  young  soul  burning  in  his  face, 
Then  suddenly,  as  in  disgrace, 

He  flung  him  on  the  grass  and  wept. 

Her  heart  was  moved,  her  pity  stirred : 
She  fled  to  him  as  flies  a  bird 
Which  hears  its  lonely  fledgling  call ; 

She  raised  his  head,  smoothed  back  his  hair, 
Looked  in  his  eyes  of  wild  despair. 
He  smiled,  and  she  forgave  him  all, 
Then  led  him  calmly  up  the  lawn, 
Glanced  at  the  bower, — the  youth  was  gone. 

Young  Edgar  passed  the  garden-gate 
With  dazzled  brain  and  heart  elate ; 
The  very  landscape  seemed  to  quiver, 
As  if  the  burning  pulse  of  love 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  103 

Was  throbbing  in  the  sky  above, 
Thrilling  the  forest,  field,  and  river. 

His  spirit's  wings  had  sudden  birth ; 

He  felt  beneath  no  heavy  earth : 

He  trod  as  on  a  field  of  air, 

And  the  flowers  like  stars  shone  everywhere. 

Down  through  the  grove  he  gained  the  stream, 

Which  flowed  before  him  like  a  dream, 

Its  ripples  whispering  to  the  shore, 

And  love  their  burden  evermore ; 

Stream,  flower,  and  tree,  and  breeze,  and  bird, 

Were  eloquent  with  that  one  word. 

He  knelt,  with  very  joy  o'erweighed, 
Beneath  a  flowering  poplar's  shade, 
And  seized  the  coronal  and  kissed 

The  blossoms, — (Love  must  have  his  will,)— 

And  held  them  to  his  lips  until 
His  eyes  were  full  of  blissful  mist, 
Through  which  the  bright  scene  brighter  shone 
In  iris  colors  all  his  own. 
Then  solemnly  the  flowers  he  prest 
Beneath  the  crossed  hands  on  his  breast, 


104  THE   WAGONER  OP 

And  cried,  "In  face  of  Death  and  Heaven, 
This  sacred  wreath  by  thee  was  given, 

And  it  shall  not  dishonored  be ! 
Here,  in  face  of  Heaven  and  Death, 
I  pledge  my  life,  my  latest  breath, 

To  Freedom  and  to  thee !" 

"  A  valiant  oath, — and  nobly  sworn  !" 
Exclaimed  a  voice  of  thunder  near ; 
"  And,  if  it  be  no  idle  boast, 
Go  forth  to-day,  and  take  your  post : 
For  hark !  'tis  Freedom's  bugle-horn 
Which  summons  you  from  here ! 

Mount  yonder  steed, — unless  I  err, 
He  will  not  wait  for  whip  or  spur, — 
And  I  have  one  as  good  beside. 
'Tis  well :  we  both  have  far  to  ride." 

The  youth  sprang  up.     The  speaker's  height 
Loomed  o'er  him  like  a  cloud  of  night : 
The  palm  on  Edgar's  shoulder  flung 
In  friendship,  wellnigh  made  him  reel : 
The  pledging  right  hand  ached  and  stung, 
Grasped  in  the  wagoner's  grip  of  steel. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  105 

"Our  place  of  secret  rendezvous," 
He  said,  "  is  only  known  to  few, — 
A  cavern  in  a  wild  ravine, 

Hid  by  the  friendly  oak  and  vine, 

Where  naught  is  heard  but  the  Brandywine, 
Which  rolls  a  shadowy  flood  between ; 
A  hidden  place,  that  well  might  be 

The  stronghold  of  a  robber  crew  : 
Of  such  persuasion  are  not  we, 

Save  in  our  royal  tyrant's  view. 

Your  guide  I  cannot  be  to-day ; 
My  course  lies  far  another  way ; 
But  there  is  one  will  guide  you  true : 

Already,  with  a  heart  of  joy, 
By  yonder  wall  he  waits  for  you, 

Henceforth  your  friend, — the  frolic  boy. 
Mount  you,  and  place  the  youth  behind, — 

The  wildest  steed  may  carry  double, — 
And  in  the  holsters  you  will  find 

Two  trusty  guards  in  case  of  trouble. 

And  when  you  meet  the  wild-eyed  dame 
Who  reigns  within  our  secret  place, 
If  she  looks  strangely  in  your  face, 

Speak  kindly, — simply  name  my  name, — 


106  THE  WAGONER. 

That  my  command  has  brought  you  hence, 
No  further  it  behooves  to  know  : 

'Twere  well  you  give  her  no  offence : 
She  may  be Well,  no  matter :  go." 

They  parted,  and  the  youth  obeyed, 
And  when  the  friendly  evening  laid 
Concealment  over  rock  and  wave, 
He  gained  the  river  and  the  cave.w 


PART   II. 


UNIVERSITY 


I. 


THE   YOUNG   PATRIOT. 

THREE  years  the  flying  sun  and  shade 

O'er  Berkley  Hall  their  change  had  cast, 
Since  the  wild  urchin  and  the  maid 

Within  its  loyal  portal  passed. 
Two  years  the  invader's  war-alarms 

Had  waked  the  land,  which  still  defied, 
And  oft  the  gleam  of  patriot  arms 

From  Berkley's  turret  was  descried. 

Upon  his  central  roof  a  tower 

Eose  and  o'erlooked  the  country  wide, — 
A  place  scarce  fit  for  lady's  bower ; 

For  there  was  seen,  on  every  side, 
Many  a  cast-off  coat  of  war, 

Helmet  and  sword,  with  hack  and  scar, 
10  109 


110  THE   WAGONER  OF 

With  guns  and  pistols  crosswise  hung, 
O'er  which  the  dust  of  years  was  flung. 

And  there  through  many  a  changeful  hour 
The  anxious  father  and  the  maid 
Through  telescopic  glass  surveyed 

The  impending  cloud  of  battle  lower ; 

They  watched  it  move  o'er  land  and  stream, 
They  saw  the  white  sails  come  and  go, 

And  all  the  flashing  splendor  gleam 
Along  the  bristling  plains  below. 
• 

There  had  they  gazed  through  one  long  day, 

Watching  an  army  glide  away 

Beyond  the  city's  western  side, — 

So  far,  the  line  was  scarce  descried  ; 

But  Esther  knew  a  nation's  trust 

Marched  there  in  that  long  cloud  of  dust. 

"  Thank  Heaven!"  the  loyalist  exclaimed, 
"  They  are  gone ! — our  city  is  reclaimed, 
And  England's  banner  now  may  fly, 
To  gladden  every  loyal  eye!" 

But  now  a  voice,  like  a  clarion  clear, 
Rang  laughing  in  the  speaker's  ear : — 


THE  ALLEGHANIES. 

"  I  saw  him !  and  your  vaunt  is  vain ; 
I  saw  him  and  his  warrior  train : 
Had  you  beheld  that  hero  host, 
Your  fears  had  not  allowed  the  boast." 

Who  dared  in  Berkley's  presence  proud 
Speak  rebel  words  so  fierce  and  loud  ? 
Sir  Hugh  his  hand  in  anger  laid 
Upon  the  handle  of  his  blade ; 
But  when  he  saw  the  wild-eyed  boy, 
And  gazed  upon  his  face  of  joy, 

The  vengeance  in  his  breast  was  stayed. 

Then,  with  a  tremor  on  his  tongue, 

While  something  paler  grew  his  cheek, 
As  some  retarding  memory  clung 

On  the  rebuke  he  fain  would  speak, 
He  said,  "  Rash  boy,  beware  !  beware  ! 

You  put  my  kindness  to  the  proof. 
Is  it  for  this  my  three  years'  care 

Has  sheltered  you  beneath  my  roof? 
Is  it  for  this "     He  said  no  more : 

He  saw  the  tear,  the  brow  of  pain, — 
A  look  which  he  had  seen  before, 

And  one  he  would  not  see  again. 


112  THE   WAGONER  OF 

"  Nay,  Ugo,  nay !"  the  maiden  cried, 

Her  two  hands  clasping  his  between ; 
Her  tender  eyes  to  his  replied, 

And  straightway  all  his  troubled  mien 
Grew  bright,  as  when  the  iris  form 
Glows  on  the  cloud  that  threatened  storm. 
"  Nay,  Ugo,  nay :  speak  out,  and  say 
The  things  which  you  have  seen  to-day." 

"  Him  have  I  seen,"  the  boy  exclaimed, 
"  Yes,  him ! — what  needs  he  to  be  named  ? 
The  world  has  only  one  broad  sun, 
And  Freedom's  world  but  Washington." 

Even  while  he  spake  that  fiery  word, 

The  stripling's  stature  seemed  to  grow  ; 
All  his  young  hero  spirit  stirred 
Sent  to  his  cheek  the  warrior  glow  : 
Save  the  same  look,  which  knew  no  awe, 
Learned  on  his  native  mountains  wild, 
You  scarcely  longer  saw  the  child 
Which  thrice  a  twelvemonth  past  you  saw. 

"  Him  have  I  seen ! — oh,  sight  to  cheer 
The  patriot  when  he  bleeding  lies, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  •  113 

To  kindle  hope  and  scatter  fear, 
And  light  new  fire  in  dying  eyes  ! 

His  way  with  banners  waved  and  burned, 
The  welkin  rang  with  patriot  cheers, 

From  every  window  fondly  yearned 

Bright  eyes  that  spoke  their  joy  in  tears. 

And  music  round  his  pathway  flung 

Its  gladness  in  a  silver  shower, 
And  over  all  the  great  bells  swung, 

Shouting  their  joy  from  every  tower. 

The  snow-white  war-horse  he  bestrode 
Stept  conscious,  with  a  soul  of  flame, 

As  if  he  knew  his  master  rode 

Straight  to  the  glorious  gates  of  Fame. 

The  coldest  gazer's  heart  grew  warm, 

And  felt  no  more  its  indecision ; 
For  every  soul  which  saw  that  form 

Grew  larger  to  contain  the  vision. 

I  watched  the  long,  long  ranks  go  by,(5) 

And  saw  defiance  in  every  eye ; 
10* 


114  THE   WAGONER  OF 

And  every  soldier  true  and  staunch 
Wore  in  his  cap  a  vernal  branch, 
As  Victory  had  placed  it  there 
For  Fame  to  twine  about  his  hair. 

Oh,  how  the  wild  heart  sent  its  blood 
Through  all  the  frame,  a  throbbing  flood, 
To  see  those  spirits,  true  and  tried, 
Who  crossed  at  night  the  roaring  tide, 
What  time  the  grinding  gulfs  of  ice 
Made  all  the  desperate  peril  thrice, 
When  nothing  but  a  patriot's  fire 
Could  breast  the  winter's  bitter  ire, — 
Who  barefoot  trod  December's  snow, 
And  took  the  hirelings  at  a  blow  ! 

You  should  have  seen  that  stream  of  life 

Westward  go  and  eastward  come; 
Thrilled  and  cheered  by  the  startling  fife, 

Throbbed  through  and  through  by  many  a  drum. 

There,  on  his  charger  fierce  and  tall, 

A  fiery  stallion  black  as  night, 
His  bold  front  overtopping  all, — • 

A  very  tower  along  the  right, — 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  115 

With  eye  that  death  could  not  deter, 

His  rifle  o'er  his  shoulder  flung, 

Two  pistols  in  his  holsters  hung, 
Eode  Ringbolt,  the  wild  wagoner. 

They  who  have  seen  that  mighty  hand 
And  heard  the  swearing  of  his  whip 
May  well  conceive  the  giant  grip 

That  wielded  the  commanding  brand. 

There,  like  a  son  by  his  warrior  sire, 

And  mounted  on  a  steed  as  good, 
His  eye  aflame  with  patriot  fire, 

His  cheek  aflush  with  patriot  blood, 
Rode  Edgar,  and  the  leaves  of  green 
Set  in  his  cap  had  a  rose  between ; 
I  knew  not  what  the  intent  might  be : 
Perchance  'twas  there  for  memory. 

And  after  these  a  hundred  more, 

Obedient  to  the  wagoner's  word, 
As  fierce  a  band  as  ever  bore 

Through  fire  and  flood  the  avenging  sword. 
These  were  his  '  mountain  eagles,' — these, 

So  often  seen  a  flying  cloud 


116  THE   WAGONER   OF 

That  sweeps  the  hills  through  forest-trees, 
Following  their  leader  loud, — 
A  cloud  whose  form 
Is  a  whirlwind  storm, 
When  on  the  flanks 
Of  the  foeman's  ranks 
It  breaks  from  upland  covert  near, 
And  pours  its  sudden  holts  of  wrath, 
Then  gains  anew  the  secret  path 
Ere  it  is  said,  'The  storm  is  here !' 
Pale  wonder  strikes  the  columns  wide, 
And,  ere  the  foe  can  count  his  slain, 
Thundering  down  the  other  side 
The  swooping  tempest  strikes  again. 

But  yesterday  I  heard  their  tramp, 
And  saw  their  chargers  dashing  down, 
Each  wild  mane  like  a  banner  blown : 
They  swam  the  river,  leapt  the  creek, 

And  o'er  the  near  hills  gained  the  camp, 
Bearing  the  news  from  Chesapeake." 

So  spake  the  youth.     The  maid  near  by- 
Sat  gazing  in  his  clear,  dark  eye, 
As  if  she  saw  in  its  depths,  anew, 
The  whole  bright  pageant  passing  through. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  117 

But  Berkley  frowned  his  blackest  frown, 

As  that  would  put  the  rebel  down, 

And  cried,  "Well,  sir,  and  is  this  all? 
The  picture  you  would  have  us  view 
Is  rare,  and  colored  somewhat  new  : 

Methinks  'twere  easier  to  recall 

That  barefoot,  tattered,  hungry  crew 

Quartered  but  now  near  Berkley  Hall. 

The  farmers'  planted  fields  forlorn 

Will  make  a  poor  return  of  corn, 
And  thievish  birds  wax  fat,  I  fear, 
Since  all  the  scarecrows  volunteer !" 

And  he  laughed  the  bitter  laugh  of  scorn, 
So  grating  to  a  patriot's  ear. 

"  You  know  so  well  how  a  rebel  feels 

Fresh  from  his  sty  of  mire  and  straw, 
While  dangling,  tangling  'twixt  his  heels 

Is  dragged  the  sword  he  dares  not  draw : 
Gird  on  this  brand,  and  let  us  see 
The  brave  young  rebel  you  would  be  !" 
So  speaking,  he  took  from  its  place  of  dust 
A  blade  whose  scabbard  was  thick  with  rust : — 
"  And  this  chapeau,  for  many  a  year 
Untouched  among  the  cobwebs  here, — 


118  THE   WAGONER   OF 

The  webs  may  serve  you  yet  for  lint  ; 

This  ancient  gun, 

With  rust  o'errun, — 
It  matters  not  the  loss  of  flint ; 
A  pistol  or  so  to  grace  your  side ; 
This  old  flask,  too : — be  naught  denied 
To  deck  you  in  your  warrior  pride  ! 
Behold  you  now !     By  Heaven,  you  stand 
As  fair  a  rebel  as  walks  the  land !" 

Again  the  bitter  laugh  was  flung 
From  off  the  old  man's  scornful  tongue. 

The  youth  a  moment  glared  in  doubt, 
Reddening  like  one  who  stands  at  bay ; 

But  presently  burst  his  laughter-shout, 
And,  crying,  "Then  be  it  as  you  say!" 
Wildly  sprang  from  the  tower  away. 

They  heard  him  descend  the  echoing  stair, 
And  Berkley  stood  with  wondering  air, 
Listening  with  wide  eyes  and  lips, 
Like  a  traveller  on  Vesuvius'  top 
When  his  adventurous  hand  lets  drop 
A  stone  into  the  yawning  pit, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  "    119 

From  rock  to  rock  he  hears  it  flit, 
Till  the  noises  die  in  a  far  eclipse. 

But,  when  the  clattering  sounds  were  past, 
Sir  Hugh  stood  with  the  look  aghast 
Of  a  sire  who  has  held  his  favorite  boy, 
In  frolic,  only  to  fright  and  annoy, 
Over  a  precipice  wild  and  deep, 
When,  with  a  sudden  and  desperate  leap, 
The  child  is  gone !  and  the  father  stands, 
Stunned  and  staring,  with  empty  hands. 


320  THE  WAGONER  OF 


II. 

EUST    ON    THE   SWORD. 

0  HAPPY  and  secure  retreat, 

Dear  Valley,  home  of  many  friends ! 

1  envy  even  the  hurried  feet 

Which  fancy  through  your  quiet  sends  1 

There  led  of  old  the  Cambrian  swain 
His  flock  by  flowery  brook  and  rill, 

Flinging  across  the  summer  plain 

The  song  he  learned  on  Snowdon's  hill, — 

Perchance  some  fragmentary  strain 
Of  ancient  Merlin's  wizard  skill. 

His  language  now  no  longer  breathes 

Its  strange,  wild  music  through  the  scene, 
But  here  and  there  a  name  still  wreathes 

His  memory  in  perpetual  green. 
120 


THE  ALLEOHANIES.  121 

Tredyffrin,  Cain,  and  Nantmeal,  hold 
Traditions  of  those  sires  of  old ; 
While  Uwchlan,  in  her  inmost  vale, 
May  hear  at  eve  some  Cambrian  tale. 

Though  many  a  brave  ancestral  name 

Has,  starlike,  in  the  distance  set, 
Still  thou  hast  others  dear  to  Fame, 

Forgetful  Time  shall  not  forget, — • 
Bright  memories  which  shall  long  remain 

Cherished  by  every  patriot  breast, — 

That  of  the  calm-browed  painter  West, 
And  his,  the  fiery-hearted  Wayne ; 
And  in  thy  scientific  bowers 

Are  those  which  fear  nor  frost  nor  sun  : 
There,  written  with  immortal  flowers, 

Are  found  such  names  as  Darlington. 
Nor  dost  thou  need  my  hand  to  fling 

The  poet's  offering  on  thy  shrine  : — 
Among  thy  vales  sweet  minstrels  sing 

Like  thine  own  flashing  Brandywine. 
From  Kennet,  Taylor's  soaring  strain 

Kings  like  a  silver  bugle  round, 
As  if  on  that  near  battle- pi  a  in 

Some  herald's  clarion  he  had  found. 
ll 


122  THE   WAGONER   OF 

'Twas  midnight  in  the  secret  cave, 
Darkness  and  silence  reigning,  save 
The  dreary  muttering  of  the  brands 

That  flickered  where  a  cauldron  hung ; 
"While  dreaming  near,  with  folded  hands, 

A  woman  sat,  no  longer  young : — 
No  longer  young, — or  rather  say 
Her  first  youth  only  passed  away. 
Her  hair,  as  by  a  wind  thrown  back, 
Was  glossy  still,  and  thick  and  black ; 
Her  brow  was  clear,  save  where  the  brain 
Had  set  its  outward  seal  of  pain. 
Her  cheek  was  tanned,  her  eye  was  bright 
With  something  of  unearthly  light ; 
A  string  of  mingled  bead  and  shell, 
Which  seemed  of  woodland  life  to  tell, 
Entwined  her  head,  and  round  her  waist 
A  costly  wampum  belt  was  placed ; 
While  on  her  tawny  neck  and  arm 
Hung  amulet  and  bracelet  charm. 
Her  robes  of  mingled  cloth  and  fur 
With  beads  and  quills  embroidered  were : 
And  thus  in  her  wild  forest  dress 
She  looked  an  Indian  prophetess, 
With  still  a  something  in  her  face, 

And  something  in  her  slender  mien, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  123 

Beyond  the  finest  savage  grace 

That  ever  marked  a  chieftain's  queen. 

There  sat  she  gazing,  dreamy-eyed, 

As  if  within  the  flame  she  spied 

Visions  of  scenes  long  past  and  gone, 

Or  some  strange  pleasure  yet  to  dawn. 

But  now  her  quick  ear  caught  a  sound, — 
A  stealthy  footfall  drawing  near : 

A  light  hare  tripping  o'er  the  ground 
Would  wake  her  eye,  but  not  her  fear : 
Still  through  the  leaves  it  came  more  clear, — 

Her  hand  was  on  the  rifle  laid, 

Her  quick  glance  pierced  the  cavern's  shade ; 

But  soon  the  well-known  whisper  came, 

Giving  the  watchword  and  her  name  : — 

"  Hist,  Nora ! — hist !  'tis  I !" — she  bade 

Young  Ugo  enter  undismayed. 

A  moment  in  his  laughing  eye 

She  gazed,  then  scanned  his  strange  attire : 

His  figure  brightened  by  the  fire, 
His  shadow  looming  darkly  high, 
The  sword,  the  gun,  the  pistols,  hat, — 
With  questioning  look  she  stared  thereat. 


124  THE   WAGONER   OF 

"  Say,  Ugo,  say,  where  was  the  theft? 
What  loyalist  have  you  bereft?" 

"  No  theft,"  the  boy  indignant  cried, 
"  But  gift  of  one  who  bade  me  don 
These  rebel  arms,  and  urged  me  on, 
Until,  to  please  him,  I  complied ; 
But  who,  or  where,  or  when,  or  how, 
The  question  matters  little  now. 
Come,  Nora, — you  were  ever  good, — 
I  only  ask  a  little  food, 
And  then  your  helping  hand  to-night 
To  make  this  old  sword  somewhat  bright; 
While  on  these  pistols  I  renew 
The  polish  which  is  still  their  due, 
And  from  the  gun  remove  the  crust 
Of  honorable  dust  and  rust ; 
For  well  I  know  the  time  is  near — 
The  scene,  too,  not  o'er  far  from  here — 
When  every  weapon  we  can  wield 
Shall  be  most  dear  to  Freedom's  field." 

She  gave  him  food  with  generous  hand, 
And  then  essayed  to  cleanse  the  brand ; 
And,  while  she  wrought  the  blade  along, 
She  cheered  her  toiling  hand  with  song. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  125 


SONG. 

I. 

Oh,  sweet  is  the  sound  of  the  shuttle  and  loom 
When  the  lilies  of  peace  fill  the  land  with  perfume ! 
Then  cheerily  echoes  the  axe  from  the  hill, 
While  the  bright  waters  sing  on  the  wheel  of  the  mill, 
And  the  anvil  rings  out  like  a  bell  through  the  day, 
And  the  wagoner's  song  cheers  his  team  on  the  way, 
Till  the  bugles  sound  here,  and  the  drums  rattle  there, 
And  the  banners  of  War  stream  afar  on  the  air. 

II. 

Then  wild  is  the  hour,  and  fearful  the  day, 
When  the  shuttle  is  dropt  for  the  sword  and  the  fray, 
When  the  woodman  is  felling  a  foe  at  each  stroke, 
And  the  miller  is  blackened  with  powder  and  smoke,  - 
When  the  smith  wields  the  blade  in  his  terrible  grip, 
And  the  wagoner's  rifle  cracks  true  as  his  whip : 
The  bugles  sound  here,  and  the  drums  rattle  there, 
While  the  banners  of  War  stream  afar  on  the  air. 

in. 
Our  brave-hearted  yeomen, — our  lords  of  the  soil, — 

They  reap  where  they  sow  the  reward  of  their  toil ; 
11* 


126  THE  WAGONER  OF 

In  the  broad  field  of  labor  their  harvest  is  blithe, 
Their  favorite  arms  the  plough,  sickle,  and  scythe : 
The  plough  and  the  sickle,  the  scythe  and  the  flail, — 
These,  these  are  their  weapons,  with  these  they  prevail, 
Till  the  bugles  sound  here,  and  the  drums  rattle  there, 
And  the  banners  of  War  stream  afar  on  the  air. 

IV. 
Then  the  plough-horse  is  mounted,  and  flies  o'er  the 

plain, 

The  blade  is  flung  by  in  the  grass  or  the  grain, 
And  the  hand  that  grew  strong  on  the  flail  or  the 

plough, 

And  battled  alone  with  the  harvest  till  now, 
The  rifle  and  sword  can  as  steadily  wield, 
Till  the  harvest  of  foemen  is  swept  from  the  field ; 
While  the  bugles  sound  here,  and  the  drums  rattle  there, 
And  the  banners  of  War  stream  afar  on  the  air. 

v. 

Be  God  on  our  side  in  the  season  of  dread ! 

Be  His  strength  with  the  living,  His  peace  with  the 

dead; 

His  love  shield  the  widow  and  orphan,  His  care 
Soothe  the  parents  whose  sorrow  shall  whiten  their 

hair; 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  127 

Be  success  with  the  right  when  the  struggle  is  through, 
And  the  sword  be  returned  to  the  ploughshare  anew, 
And  no  bugle  sound  here,  and  no  drum  rattle  there, 
While  the  banners  of  Peace  stream  afar  on  the  air ! 


Thus,  singing  strenuously,  she  toiled 

To  cleanse  the  blade  which  Time  had  soiled. 

The  dull  stains  clung  unto  the  steel, 

As  they  were  spots  of  murderous  red 
Whose  stubborn  hue  must  needs  reveal 

The  crime  when  first  that  blood  was  shed. 

She  knelt  before  the  midnight  flame, 

Which  seemed  to  leap  with  pleasure  new  : 
She  gazed, — a  chill  ran  through  her  frame 

As  if  a  spectre  met  her  view : 
She  saw  the  Berkley  arms  and  name 
Slow  struggling  through  the  veil. of  rust, 
Then  swooned,  and  sank  into  the  dust. 

But  Ugo's  aid  was  instant  there  : 

He  raised  her  head  upon  his  knee, 
Called  her  by  name,  smoothed  back  her  hair, 
Looked  with  a  face  of  mute  despair 
On  hers  of  pallid  agony. 


128  THE  WAGONER  OF 

At  length  a  breath,  came  full  and  deep, 

And  then,  as  one  who  walks  in  sleep 

And  sees  with  large  unwavering  eyes 

Through  veils  of  awful  mysteries, 

She  stared,  and  sighed,  "0  Heaven!  'tis  done!- 

Where  fought  the  two  there  stands  but  one :" 

Then  passed  her  hand  across  her  brow, 

And  looked  in  the  o'erbending  face, 
Which  still  its  pitying  posture  kept : — 
"  0  Ugo,  do  not  leave  me  now  !" 

She  groaned.     "  It  is  a  dreary  place  !" 
Then  bowed  her  head  and  wept. 

"  Go,  lay  her  on  her  couch  apart !" 
The  deep  voice  made  the  hearers  start. 
She  choked  the  tears  back  to  her  heart, 
And  mounted  like  a  wounded  deer 
That  hears  its  calling  comrade  near. 

"  Good  Nora,  we  have  much  to  do," 
Said  Kingbolt,  "  yet  no  need  of  you. 
Our  eagle  troop  will  soon  be  here  : 
They  tether  now  their  horses  near. 
The  boy  our  sentinel  watch  can  keep, 
So  to  your  couch  a  while  and  sleep. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES. 


Unless  the  storm  should  pass,  or  pause 
Which  hangs  in  thunder  o'er  the  land, 
Ere  set  of  many  suns,  your  hand 

May  do  good  service  in  our  cause. 


All  night  the  well-piled  fire  must  glow, 
All  night  the  molten  lead  be  poured, 
Our  guns  re-cleaned,  re-sharped  the  sword, 

In  honor  of  the  approaching  foe  ; 

And  if  it  be,  as  beldames  say, 

The  devil  feasts  when  tyrants  fall, 

Let  his  infernal  board  straightway 
Be  spread,  with  room  enough  for  all  1" 


130  THE  WAGONER  OF 


III. 


A    BUEIAL. 

ROUND  all  the  wide  horizon's  bar 
There  lay  no  growing  cloud  to  mar 

The  brightness  of  the  autumn  day ; 
And  yet  the  soft  air  felt  the  jar 
Of  thunder  rolling  from  afar,(6) 

And  shuddered  in  its  pale  dismay. 

Berkley,  with  anxious  eye  and  ear, 
Stood  on  the  southern  porch  to  hear, 
Disturbed  with  many  a  doubt  and  fear, 

As  rolled  the  distant  roaring  in ; 
Then  to  his  tower  he  mounted  high, 
And  searched  through  all  the  cloudless  sky 
All,  all  was  clear,  while  still  came  by 

The  rumble  of  the  constant  din. 

130 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  131 

Was  direful  war  the  sudden  source  ? 

Was  it  for  this  the  rebel  force 

Had  ta'en  but  now  their  southward  course  ? 

The  sound  his  fears  too  well  define  ! 
It  is,  it  is  the  cannon's  mouth ! 
Its  awful  answer  from  the  south 
Bears  tidings  of  the  roaring  ranks 
That  crash  upon  the  trembling  banks, 

The  crimson  banks,  of  Brandywine. 

Pale  Esther,  in  that  gloomy  tower, 
Strained  her  sad  vision's  fruitless  power : 
On  every  sound  she  seemed  to  hear 

The  shout  and  groan  together  swell ; 
At  every  burst  that  came  more  clear, 

She  deemed  her  hero  Edgar  fell, — 
Fell,  and  perchance  had  breathed  his  last 
Long  ere  the  death-announcing  blast, 
Speeding  through  miles  of  frighted  air, 
His  dying  sigh  to  her  could  bear. 

Still  hearkening,  gazing  far  abroad, 

Some  sign  of  triumph  to  discover, 
All  day  she  poured  her  prayer  to  God 

To  shield  her  country  and  her  lover. 


132  THE   WAGONER   OF 

And  Berkley,  listening  to  the  fight, 
Remembered  Trenton's  direful  night, 
And  that  it  was  the  same  fierce  train 

Whose  lengthy  line  he  saw  of  late 
Pour  from  the  city  o'er  the  plain, 

Led  by  a  leader  bold  and  great, 
Who  now  upon  that  roaring  field 
Might  cause  once  more  their  flag  to  yield. 

His  heart,  misgiving,  sank  away, 
Shuddering  through  the  doubtful  day : 
And  should  the  rebels  win,  what  then? — 
The  troops  were  bold  and  desperate  men : 
And  he  remembered  with  affright 
The  terrors  of  that  startling  night 
What  time  a  rude  and  lawless  crew 

(All  such  he  deemed  the  patriot  lines) 
Intruded  on  his  midnight  view 

And  drank  his  dearest,  noblest  wines : 
His  frame  was  agued  through  and  through 
Lest  that  wild  scene  should  come  anew. 

"  Ho  I  gardener,  hostler,  coachman ! — ho ! 
Each  man  whose  hand  can  wield  a  spade  1 
A  place  of  safety  must  be  made : 

Bring  shovels,  hoe.?,  and  picks,  arid  show 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  133 

How  you  can  ply  the  digging  trade." 

When  Berkley's  will  was  thus  conveyed, 
Down  came  the  gardener  and  his  man, 

The  hostler  and  the  hostler's  lad, 
The  coachman  and  the  footman  ran, 

And  each  his  delving  orders  had. 

"  Dig  me  a  pit !"  the  master  cried, 

"  And  let  it  be  both  deep  and  wide, 

As  'twere  a  grave  that  might  contain 

A  score  or  more  of  rebels  slain. 

But  they  for  whom  this  grave  is  made 

Belong  unto  a  nobler  grade, 

With  better  blood  than  ever  ran 

In  purple  veins  of  outlaw  clan. 

Their  royal  genealogic  lines 

Come  down  the  Old  World's  antique  vines : 

Ho,  butler !  my  good  sacristan, 
Bear  out  our  monarch  king  of  wines, 
Old  Port,  in  all  his  purple  pride, 
With  queenly  Sherry  at  his  side, 

Followed  by  all  their  loyal  train, 
The  brave,  light-hearted  German  knights 
Whose  birth  was  on  the  Rhenish  heights, 

The  well-beloved  of  Charlemagne, 

12 


134  THE  WAGONER  OF 

And  all  those  maids  whose  bright  eyes  glance 
In  memory  of  their  native  France. 
Here,  give  them  to  their  parent  mould 

Till  peace  has  stilled  this  rebel  strife ; 
Then  doubly  bright  and  doubly  bold 

Shall  be  their  renovated  life." 

Sir  Hugh,  thus  making  mournful  mirth, 
That  poorly  cloaked  his  trembling  fear, — • 
It  may  be  with  a  secret  tear, — 
Consigned  his  precious  wines  to  earth : 
'Twas  midnight  ere  they  smoothed  away 
All  traces  where  his  treasures  lay. 


'Twas  midnight,  and  a  moon  in  heaven, 

And  silence  over  stream  and  hill, 
Save  where  the  lone  bird's  song  was  given, 

Or  aspens,  with  a  whispering  thrill, 
Seemed  sheltering  some  young  wind  benighted, 
Late  from  the  battle-field  affrighted. 
The  moon  which  through  the  window  gazed 

Saw  Esther  'gainst  her  harp  reclining, 
Her  pale  and  prayerful  face  upraised, 

And  each  eye  with  a  tear-drop  shilling. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  135 

Her  prophet-heart  foreboding  well 
The  fate  which  to  that  field  befell, 
Her  fingers  trembled  on  the  string, 
And  thus  her  prayerful  song  took  wing. 


SONG. 

I. 

0  God,  o'er  all  this  blooming  earth 
Is  it  with  thine  approving  eye 

That  every  flower  of  noble  birth 

Must  bow  to  poisonous  weeds,  or  die  ? 

II. 
Through  all  our  pastures  must  there  run 

The  bramble  which  no  fruitage  bears  ? 
Must  every  field  which  loves  the  sun 

Be  arrogant  with  choking  tares? 

ill. 
Must  every  tree  whose  leaves  divine 

Were  made  in  Freedom's  air  to  spread 
Be  clasped  by  the  obnoxious  vine 

Until  its  boughs  are  sapped  and  dead  ? 


136  THE  WAGONER   OF 


IV. 


Wilt  thou  not  send  some  mighty  hand 
To  sweep  through  these  entangled  walks, 

To  root  the  proud  weeds  from  the  land 
And  burn  the  rank  and  thorny  stalks  ? 


A  moment  now  she  paused,  and  sighed, 
Her  hand  still  on  the  quivering  cords, 
As  waiting  the  ensuing  words, 
When,  at  the  open  casement  wide, 
A  voice  in  patriot  tones  replied : — 

"  Yes,  God  hath  sent  that  arm  of  wrath : 
It  sweeps  the  land  with  sword  of  fire ; 

The  poisonous  weeds  but  strew  his  path 
To  build  Oppression's  funeral  pyre  !" 

Sweet  is  the  sound  when  pardon  calls 
The  prisoner  from  his  dreary  walls ; 
And  sweet  the  succoring  voice  must  be 
Which  hails  a  sinking  ship  at  sea ; 
And  dear  the  water's  light  when  first 
It  greets  the  desert-pilgrim's  thirst, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  137 

Or  from  the  friendly  helmet  drips 
To  cool  a  fainting  patriot's  lips : 
But  not  more  sweet  or  dear  than  when 
A  fond  heart  hears  and  meets  again 
The  voice  and  the  responding  eye 
Of  one,  the  dearest  'neath  the  sky, 
"Whom  picturing  fancy  saw  btif  now 
With  drooping  head  and  bleeding  brow, 
Or  heard  the  last-drawn  sigh  of  pain 
Which  laid  him  with  his  comrades  slain  : 
Her  arm  was  round  her  hero  prest, 
Her  head  was  on  his  happy  breast. 


12* 


138  THE   WAGONER   OF 


IV. 


THE    FIGHT    AT    THE    FORD. 

WHEN  passed  the  first  wild  burst  of  joy, — • 
That  bliss  which  harbors  no  alloy, — 
The  maiden  brushed  aside  the  tear, 

And  sighed,  "  Oh,  Edgar,  is  it  true  ? 
And  are  you  living,  breathing  here, 

Or  is't  a  phantom  cheats  my  view, 
And  leads  me  up  this  happy  brink 
To  plunge  me  deeper  when  I  sink  ? 
Art  sure  that  from  the  dreadful  fray 
You  brought  no  bleeding  wound  away  ? 
Thank  Heaven  that  fainting  prayer  can  win 
Its  way  above  the  battle-din  ! 
But  tell  me  what  great  deeds  were  done, 

How  the  red  waves  were  backward  tossed 

138 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  139 

Until  the  glorious  field  was  won " 

"  Alas !"  lie  answered,  "  it  was  lost ! 

And  we  retreat, — so  deems  the  foe ; 

But  soon  his  bleeding  ranks  shall  know 
Tis  but  the  arrow  drawing  back 

Upon  the  stubborn-bending  bow, 

To  deal  a  fiercer,  deadlier  blow 

When  vengeance  speeds  it  on  its  track. 

But  how  shall  I  describe  the  fray  ? 
How  word  the  horrors  of  the  day 
To  suit  a  timid  maiden's  ear  ? 
In  sooth,  the  scenes  are  yet  too  near : 
The  roaring  cannon  and  the  strife, 
With  all  those  whirling  ranks  of  life, 
Sweep  through  my  brain,  a  puzzled  maze, 
Confused  within  a  cloudy  haze  : 
It  seems  a  wild  and  broken  dream, 
With  transitory  glimpse  and  gleam 

Of  grappling  groups,  of  bayonets'  quiver, 
Of  flashing  guns  and  sabre-stroke, 
Caught  through  the  openings  of  the  smoke 

Upon  some  visionary  river. 

Wrapt  in  a  friendly  cloud  of  mist, 
At  morn  the  wagoner  led  us  out, 


140  THE   WAGONER  OF 

And,  following  our  bold  leader's  shout, 
We  put  the  pickets  oft  to  rout, 

Oft  trampling  down  a  scouting  list, 
And  oft  upon  the  foeman's  flanks 
We  dealt  the  blow  their  startled  ranks 

Scarce  knew  where  to  resist. 

For  hours  we  sailed  from  rear  to  front, 

And  down  their  side,  from  front  to  rear : 
Death  and  confusion  paid  the  brunt 

Wherever  we  came  near. 
Anon  was  heard  the  opening  roar 
Which  called  us  to  the  bristling  shore ; 
And  now  the  fearful  scene  was  won 
Where  deadly  gun  replied  to  gun, 
And  pistol  answered  pistol  flash, 
And  then  the  fiery,  sudden  dash 

Of  hand  to  hand,  and  sword  to  sword, 
While  in  the  stream,  with  plunge  and  splash, 

Though  thrice  our  number  on  us  poured, 
We  dealt  the  thick  foe  crash  for  crash, 

And  strove  to  hold  the  ford. 

Now  was  the  time  you  should  have  seen 
Bold  Kingbolt  with  his  towering  mien ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  141 

H&ve  heard  his  voice,  have  seen  his  blow 

Which  drove  the  heavy  weapon  home, 
Each  stroke  of  which  unhorsed  a  foe, 
And  sent  him  reeling  red  below, 

Mid  trampled  waters  crushed  to  foam. 
But,  oh,  it  would  have  touched  your  pride 
Could  you  have  seen  at  Ringbolt's  side 

Our  standard-bearer,  young  and  bold, 

Fighting  and  grasping  in  his  hold 

The  banner  whose  unsullied  fold 
The  foeman's  rage  defied  ! 

But,  sad  to  see,  and  sad  to  tell, 
Brave  Ugo's  horse  beneath  him  fell, 

The  banner-boy  went  down. 
A  moment, — shall  the  horses'  tread 
Deal  death  upon  his  struggling  head  ? 

A  moment, — shall  he  drown  ? 
No ! — Ringbolt  from  his  saddle  leaps, 

His  mighty  arm  is  round  him  cast, 
But  still  his  fighting  posture  keeps, 

His  blows  fly  strong  and  fast. 

The  rider  who  survives  must  grieve 
That  ere  his  brave  steed  strove  to  cleave 


142  THE   WAGONER  OP 

With  rearing  hoof  that  skull  apart, 
He  fell  an  instant  carcass  slain, 
Hewed  wellnigh  through  from  throat  to  mane, 

Or  gashed  unto  the  heart. 

No  arm  with  that  great  arm  could  cope, 
Whether  or  foot  or  fiery  horse ; 
But  now,  as  with  a  tiger's  force 
When  battling  to  protect  its  young, 
Upon  his  steed  again  he  sprung, 
While  in  his  hold  the  boy  still  hung, 
And  grasping,  as  with  grip  of  death, 
The  reins  between  his  angry  teeth, 

To  give  his  right  arm  clearing  scope, 
There  still  his  blade  of  battle  swung, 
And  on  the  pressing  foemen  flung 
The  blow  that  to  the  invaders  rung 

The  knell  of  many  a  hero's  hope. 

At  last  the  overwhelming  tide 

Of  foemen  pressed  us  slowly  back ; 
We  did  not  turn,  we  did  not  slack 
Our  heavy  blows,  or  ever  flinch, 
But,  slowly  backing,  inch  by  inch, 

We  gained  the  other  side. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES. 

But  now  was  heard  the  roaring  din 

Of  Wayne's  artillery  pouring  in ; 

And  while  its  iron  torrent  flowed, 
Leaving  the  foe  enough  to  do, 
Along  the  highway  we  withdrew, 

To  breathe  a  little,  and  reload. 


When  Ugo  wakened  from  his  swoon, 
Gathering  his  scattered  senses  soon, 

He  sought  the  banner  of  his  pride ; 
He  looked  through  all  the  busy  band, 
And  stared  upon  his  empty  hand, 

Then  cast  his  eagle  glances  wide. 
1  Oh,  death !  oh,  infamy  !'  he  cried : 
He  saw  it  on  the  other  side, 
Beneath  the  invader's  standard  tied, 
Heavily  hanging,  wet  and  tame, 
Weeping  as  'twere  in  grief  and  shame. 

The  hour  was  loud,  but  louder  still 
Anon  the  rage  of  battle  roared 

Its  wild  and  murderous  will ; 
"  From  Jefferis  down  to  Wistar's  ford, 
From  Jones  to  Chads  the  cannon  poured, 

While  thundered  Osborne  Hill. 


144  THE  WAGONER   OF 

Oh,  ne'er  before  fled  holy  calm 

From  out  its  sainted  house  of  prayer 
So  frighted  through  the  trembling  air 

As  from  that  shrine  of  Birmingham ! 

Oft  through  the  opening  cloud  we  scanned 
The  shouting  leaders,  sword  in  hand, 

Directing  the  tumultuous  scene ; 
There  galloped  Maxwell,  gallant  Bland 

The  poet-warrior,  while  between, 
Ringing  o'er  all  his  loud  command, 

Dashed  the  intrepid  Greene. 

Here  Sullivan  in  fury  trooped, 

There  Weedon  like  an  eagle  swooped, 

With  Muhlenberg  —  where  they  were  grouped 

The  invader  dearly  earned  his  gains, — 
And  (where  the  mad  should  only  be 
The  fiercest  champion  of  the  free) 

The  loudest  trumpet-call  was  Wayne's ; 
While  in  a  gale  of  battle-glee, 

With  rapid  sword  and  pistol  dealing 

The  blows  which  set  the  foemen  reeling, 
Sped  '  light-horse  Harry  Lee.' 
And  once  or  twice  our  eye  descried, 
Mid  clouds  a  moment  blown  aside, 


THE  ALLEG-HANIES. 

With  lifted  hand  that  well  might  wield 
The  thunders  of  the  storming  field, 
The  JOVE  of  battle  ride  ! 
And  every  eye  new  courage  won 
Which  gazed  that  hour  on  Washington. 

'Twas  now  that,  marvelling,  we  beheld 
Upon  the  rising  summit  near, 

By  every  danger  unrepelled, 

Confused  by  smoke  and  dust, — not  fear, 

A  form  with  wild  and  floating  dress, 

Which  looked  a  battle-prophetess. 

But  when  the  veiling  cloud  went  by, 

We  knew  the  face  and  flashing  eye 

Of  Nora,  and  we  heard  her  cry 

Of  warning  in  that  hour  of  need  : — 

1  Speed,  Kingbolt,  to  your  leader  speed ! 

And  bid  him  know  the  stealthy  foe 

With  double  strength  comes  up  behind : 
It  was  but  now  I  saw  him  wind 

From  out  the  valley  road  below.' 

She  ceased :  a  short  and  sudden  scream 

Escaped  her  breast,  across  the  stream, 
13 


146  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Far  piercing  through  the  veil  of  haze 
Her  fierce  eyes  sent  their  staring  gaze, 
And,  following  that  stare,  we  saw, 
"With  soul  of  wonder  and  of  awe, 
"Where  Porter  and  bold  Porterfield 

Kenewed  the  struggle  at  the  ford ; 

And  at  the  moment  when  the  sword 
Swayed  in  the  balance  where  to  yield, 

In  middle  of  the  mad  melee 

Young  Ugo  snatched  his  flag  away, 
Leapt  from  the  hot,  opposing  shore, 

The  banner  tied  about  his  waist, 
And  in  the  flood  plunged  fiercely  o'er, 

By  a  hundred  whistling  bullets  chased, 
And  soon,  with  wild  ecstatic  hand, 
He  waved  it  mid  our  shouting  band. 

Naught  dearer  fills  a  soldier's  sight, 
Or  swells  his  breast  with  more  delight, 
Than  when  his  flag,  late  scorned  and  shamed, 
Is  by  some  comrade's  hand  reclaimed. 

Another  look,  the  ford  was  clear, 
The  foe  was  reeling  to  the  rear ; 
And  now  the  smoke  came  deeper  on, 
And  Nora  from  our  sight  was  gone. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  147 

But  still  her  voice  rang  high  and  loud : 
The  speaker  hid,  the  sound  so  near, 

It  seemed  some  spirit  of  the  cloud 

Spake  those  prophetic  words  of  fear  : — 

'  Too  late  !  too  late  !'  this  was  the  cry  : 

'  Fly,  Ringbolt,  Ugo,  comrades  ! — fly ! 
The  reinforcing  foe  is  here !' 

"What  followed  then  I  scarcely  know, 

Save  that  we  dashed  amid  the  smoke, 
And  where  we  saw  a  red  line  glow, 

There  fell  our  fiery  battle-stroke : 
Like  a  mad  billow  of  the  main 

We  broke  upon  those  thundering  banks, 
Then,  drawing  backward,  formed  again, 

To  burst  anew  along  their  ranks. 

For  hours  the  scene  was  still  the  same, — 
A  sleet  of  lead  mid  sheets  of  flame ; 
The  hot  hail  round  us  hissed  and  roared, 
Through  clouds  of  seething  sulphur  poured, 

Until — we  knew  not  how  or  why — 
The  day  was  lost !     Our  saddened  view 
Between  the  smoke-wreaths'  opening  wrack 
Beheld  the  patriots  falling  back  : 

The  hour  of  victory  had  gone  by  ! 


148  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Still  fighting,  we  our  line  withdrew, 
Scorning  to  yield  or  fly. 

And  now  we  gained  a  sheltering  wood, 
Where,  (oh,  it  was  a  sight  to  whet 
The  sword  of  vengeance  keener  yet !) 

Pale  with  the  streaming  loss  of  blood, 
By  hireling  foemen  still  beset, 

Beside  his  foaming  charger  stood 
The  wounded,  gallant  Lafayette. 

We  swept  between,  with  scathing  blow, 
Until  his  bleeding  wound  was  bound : 

Each  drop  of  his  the  cloven  foe 
Paid  double  to  the  crimson  ground, 

Until  from  off  that  field  forlorn 

The  noblest  son  of  France  was  borne. 

But,  oh,  the  sight,  the  last  and  worst, 
That  now  upon  my  vision  burst ! — 
I  saw,  beyond  a  thicket-screen, 
Pale  Nora  o'er  a  warrior  lean : 
His  head  upon  her  knee  she  nursed, 
And  held  unto  his  fainting  lip 
The  can  he  scarce  had  strength  to  sip. 
A  few  swift  leaps,  we  gained  the  place. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  149 

Oh,  be  the  hireling  doubly  cursed 

Who  caused  that  noble  breast  to  groan ! 

It  was  my  father's  upturned 
Which  looked  into  my  own. 


1  Nay,  son,'  he  faintly  sighed,  the  while 
His  features  wore  a  struggling  smile, 
1  Be  not  dismayed,  'twill  pass  anon  : 

Tis  but  a  little  loss  of  blood : 
I  am  content :  my  hand  has  done 

On  many  a  foeman  work  as  good ; 
And  some,  methinks,  will  never  tell 
Beneath  what  old  man's  sword  they  fell. 
But  bear  me  hence :  this  trifling  wound- 
Then  in  my  circling  arms  he  swooned. 
Nay,  start  not :  still  it  was  not  death, — 
His  breast  anon  recalled  his  breath. 


We  made  a  couch  of  fallen  boughs, 

Which  thickly  strewed  the  woodland  path, 
Torn  by  the  cannon's  flying  wrath, 

And,  with  such  speed  as  pain  allows, 

Conveyed  him  to  the  cavern,  where 

He  rests  in  Nora's  watchful  care ; 

Then,  with  the  moon  to  light  my  way, 

I  rode  to  tell  how  went  the  day." 

13* 


150  THE   WAGONER  OF 


V. 


THE    BATTLE    IN    THE    CLOUD. 

THE  red  October  by  his  tent 

Sits  painted  in  his  warrior-hues ; 

Beside  him  lies,  in  peace  unbent, 
The  bow  which  he  too  soon  will  use. 

O'er  all  the  hill-sides  near  and  far 
He  sees  the  wigwam-smoke  dispread ; 

There  all  his  waiting  warriors  are, 

Streaked  with  their  many  tints  of  red. 

Through  all  the  realm  of  elm  and  oak 
The  blue  wreaths  of  their  pipes  increase ; 

Alas  !  the  calumets  they  smoke 
Are  not  the  sacred  pipes  of  peace  I 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  151 

They  plan  around  their  council-fire 

The  ambush  on  to-morrow's  track; 
They  do  but  wait  their  warrior-sire 

To  give  the  signal  of  attack. 

The  smile  upon  his  lip  to-day, 

The  dream-light  in  his  plotting  eye, 

Are  but  prophetic  signs  to  say 

How  fierce  the  arrow-storm  shall  fly. 

Thus  Esther  mused,  as  from  her  tower 
She  gazed  o'er  misty  stream  and  land : 

She  knew  'twas  but  War's  breathing-hour 

Ere  he  again,  in  all  his  power, 

Should  wave  his  flashing  battle-brand. 

Even  there,  beneath  her  very  gaze, 

The  invader's  bristling  lines  were  spread, 

Wrapt  in  the  calm  October  haze, 
And,  like  the  Indian  autumn,  red. 

From  Delaware  their  scarlet  ranks 

Beached  even  to  the  Schuylkill  banks, 

So  near  the  very  mansion-wall 

Echoed  the  frequent  bugle-call, — 

A  sight  to  make  her  young  heart  sad, 
And  all  her  patriot  hopes  destroy, — 


152  THE   WAGONER   OF 

While  Berkley's  loyal  breast  was  mad 
With,  uncontrolled  bursts  of  joy. 

He  gave  the  invaders  every  proof 

How  much  his  wishes  with  them  lay: 
Their  flag  was  waving  on  his  roof, 

His  halls  received  them  night  and  day ; 
He  even  broached  his  buried  store, 

And  brought  a  dozen  hampers  out, 
Willing  with  generous  hand  to  pour, 

Kepaid  by  loyal  song  and  shout. 

But  one  there  was  whose  bowing  plume 

Was  chiefly  welcome  to  Sir  Hugh, 
And  once  before  that  banquet-room 

Had  felt  his  presence  through  and  through, 
The  same  who  on  that  long-gone  night 

The  maiden's  swelling  song  had  heard, 
Who  deigned  from  his  great  warrior  height 

To  stoop,  and  own  his  heart  was  stirred. 

Now  oft  in  Berkley's  ear  apart 

He  spoke  about  the  maiden's  hand : 
"  The  heiress  of  such  noble  land, 

Sir  Hugh,  should  have  a  noble  heart." 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  153 

And  once,  with  condescending  lips, 
He  bowed  and  kissed  her  finger-tips, — 
Sufficient  such  approving  sign 
From  colonel  of  the  royal  line. 

Thus  passed  a  few  calm  days  away ; 
And  now  the  night  was  not  yet  gone, 
Its  dreamy  veil  but  half  withdrawn, 

Fair  Esther  on  her  white  couch  lay, 

Her  soft  light  melting  through  the  shade  ; 

Her  cheek  against  her  hand  was  laid, 

Bound  which  the  dainty  flaxen  curls 

"Were  cast  in  little  golden  whirls, 

As  Love's  own  toying  fingers  light 

Had  twirled  them  o'er  the  pillow  white. 

That  rounded  arm,  that  angel  face, 

The  breast  that  stirred  the  snowy  frills, 

The  whole  light  form  of  perfect  grace, 

"Which  the  soft  covering  seemed  to  trace 

As  loving  it  with  warm  embrace, — 
All  this  the  conjuring  fancy  thrills; 

Thrills  with  a  sense  of  sweet  restraint, 

As  when  before  some  sculptured  saint, 

Or  lovely  vision  poured  in  paint 


154  THE   WAGONER   OP 

By  some  pure  master,  when  his  heart 
Was  molten  with  the  fire  of  art. 

Across  her  face  strange  shadows  played, 
As  if  by  struggling  pinions  made ; 
For  she  was  dreaming  of  the  fray, 

Watching,  amid  the  smoke-wreaths  dun, 

Her  Edgar  bravely  battling  on, 
The  fiercest  hero  of  the  day. 
She  saw  him  riding  midst  the  din 
That  raged  around  the  Warren  Inn, 
And  on  Paoli's  fearful  plain, 

When  Massacre  the  sword  had  drawn. 
The  trumpet's  near  and  startling  strain, 

That  fiercely  shook  the  cloudy  dawn, 
The  drums  that  rolled  their  loud  alarms, 
And  legions  springing  up  to  arms, 
Flashed  through  her  dream,  and,  when  she  woke, 
Upon  her  ear  the  tumult  broke  ! 

Leaders  were  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
Proclaiming  far,  "The  foe  !  the  foe  !" 
"The  foe !  the  foe !"  rang  over  all, 
And  woke  the  echoes  of  Berkley  Hall. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  155 

When  Esther  looked  from  her  casement  high, 
Fear  trembling  in  her  large  blue  eye, 
She  stared  against  the  vapor  dank 
Of  morning  hanging  gray  and  blank.(7) 

Great  wrestling  voices  in  the  cloud, 
Made  by  the  mist  more  clear  and  loud, 
Appalled  her  ear ;  the  sudden  roar 
Of  swift  artillery  shook  the  shore ; 
While  here  and  there  the  half-blurred  flash 
Burned,  and  every  window-sash 
Answered  to  the  thunder-crash. 

Anon  she  saw  some  warrior-form, 
Like  the  great  genii  of  the  storm, 
Rise  into  shadowy  giant  height, 
And  then  another  of  equal  might, 
And  now  the  followers  swung  in  sight, 
Wielding  great  arms, — as  oak  with  oak 
Were  battling  in  the  hill-side  smoke ; 
Or  armies  of  the  infernal  god, 
With  lightning  and  with  thunder  shod, 
Were  wielding  their  gigantic  blades 
Against  the  crests  of  kindred  shades ; 
Or,  rather,  as  some  pale,  strange  light 
Were  shining  on  some  unseen  fight, 


156  THE   WAGONER   OF 

And  these  the  shadows  fierce  and  tall 
It  threw  upon  a  cold  gray  wall, 
Struggling  in  many  a  rise  and  fall. 

A  scene  of  horror  clear  descried 

Must  make  the  stoutest  spirit  quail ; 
But  horrors  doubly  magnified 
Behind  a  half-concealing  veil 
May  well  make  maiden's  cheek  grow  pale. 

She  watched  the  sun  rise  o'er  the  field, 
A  great  disk  like  a  bloody  shield, 
And  'gainst  it  rose  a  vision  dim, 
Made  clearer  by  that  burning  rim, 
Two  plunging  riders  huge  and  grim ; 
Their  fiery  chargers  seemed  to  swim 

Together  in  the  wild  commotion, 

Like  war-barks  in  a  roaring  ocean. 
But  who  is  he,  that  warrior  slim, 

Now  lost  to  sight,  and  now  more  plain? 
The  agile  form  proclaims  it  him 

The  object  of  her  heart's  devotion. 
£ut(  see ! — oh,  monstrous ! — even  the  sun 
Burns  redder,  beholding  three  to  one, — 
Three  striking  and  one  parrying !     Now, 

Doubling  the  tumult  of  the  scene, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  157 

Another  giant  swings  between  ! 
Swift  flash  the  blades  around  his  brow, 
Like  lightning  o'er  some  rocky  crest, 
Drawn  by  the  metal  in  its  breast : 
But,  like  the  storm-defying  rock, 
Harmless  about  him  breaks  the  shock ; 
The  battle-clouds,  confused  and  rent, 
Are  backward  hurled,  their  thunders  spent. 

Still  side  by  side  the  heroes  fight, 
Following  the  foe  from  left  to  right  ; 
Swift  flies  the  Wagoner's  whirling  blade, 
And  Edgar's  is  its  very  shade. 

See  how  they  rear,  and  plunge,  and  smite, 
And,  fighting  still,  wheel  out  of  sight. 
Her  throbbing  eyes  can  bear  no  more  : 
She  sinks,  half  fainting,  to  the  floor. 

But  no !  her  heart  is  with  the  cause  : 

Shall  she  thus  sink  away  dismayed 

The  while  her  Edgar's  flaming  blade 

Is  flashing  even  as  she  bade  ? 
One  deep,  renewing  breath  she  draws ; 

She  scorns  the  weakness  thus  displayed, 

14 


158  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Contemns  the  soul  that  now  would  pause, 
And  gains  her  feet,  no  more  afraid. 

Before  his  door,  with  sword  in  hand, 
Sir  Hugh  was  making  warlike  stand, 
When  a  troop  of  loyalists  came  by, 
Uncertain  if  to  fight  or  fly : 
Such  contradictory  news  was  tossed 
Through  fogs  that  veiled  the  battle-din, 
They  dared  not  say  which  side  would  win, 
But  to  their  secret  hearts  within 
They  owned  the  dreadful  day  was  lost. 

One  glance  at  Berkley  Hall  they  threw, 
And  saw  the  flag  which  o'er  it  flew : 
"  Ho,  sirrah  rebel !  who  are  you?" 
They  cried,  and  trooped  around  Sir  Hugh. 
"  Rebel !"  he  echoed,  in  disdain : 
"  Who  dares  such  words  apply  again, 
This  hand  shall  drive  the  lying  breath 
Back  to  his  throat  through  bleeding  teeth ; 
This  sword  shall  cleave  the  caitiff  through 
Who  dares  that  insult  to  renew." 

"  Ho !  ho  !"  they  cried, — "  a  prize  !  a  prize  1 
The  rebel  dog,  through  fear  and  shame, 


THE  ALLEQHANIES.  159 

Would  skulk  beneath  a  loyal  name ; 
But  where  yon  rag  insults  the  skies 
"We  know  full  well  our  right  to  claim." 

"  That  rag  ?    Insult  ?" — He  choked  with  ire ; 
He  said  no  more ;  his  eye  of  fire 
Flashed  confidently  o'er  the  roof, 
When — oh,  the  staggering,  deadly  proof! — • 
His  heart,  as  from  a  towering  crag, 

Fell  back,  as  stunned  in  dismal  plight. 

Where  now  his  valiant  soul  of  might, 
The  spirit  never  known  to  lag  ? 
There,  sailing  on  the  winds  aloof, 

He  saw  the  hated  patriot  flag, 
While  Ugo's  clear  and  ringing  voice 

Flung  from  the  watch-tower  far  and  free — 
Making  the  misty  air  rejoice — 

The  fiery  shout  of  Victory. 

Bold  Berkley  stood  with  wonder  dumb, 
Confused,  as  dead  to  sight  and  sound ; 

But,  when  he  felt  his  senses  come, 

He  chafed  to  find  his  arms  were  bound ; 

And  then,  with  high,  indignant  mien, 

Mounted  two  surly  guards  between, 

He  left  with  threatening  brow  the  scene. 


160  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Sir  Hugh  long  cursed  the  fatal  hour 
Which  saw  that  flag  upon  his  tower  : 
Oh,  sad  mischance  that  placed  it  there 
In  that  wild  moment  when  despair 
"Was  trembling  down  the  royal  line, — 

When  Victory,  with  her  thrusting  hand, 
Through  blinding  fogs,  strove  to  consign 

Her  laurel  to  the  patriot  band  !(8) 
And  Berkley,  ready  for  the  field, 

At  his  own  door,  with  waving  sword, 
Stood  threatening  with  defiant  word 

The  loyal  troop  which  bade  him  yield. 
And,  further,  his  accusers  knew 
That  members  of  the  obnoxious  crew 
At  all  hours,  day  and  night,  had  been 
Prowling  round  Berkley  Manor  seen. 

All  these  were  ominous  proofs  and  black 
Which  gathered  on  his  troubled  track : 
No  word  of  his  could  move  the  shade 
Upon  his  loyal  honor  laid. 

Some  favor  still  the  doubt  received  : 
They  would  not  touch  his  land  or  hall ; 
His  daughter  might  retain  them  all. 

This  but  in  part  his  pain  relieved : 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  161 

His  fancy  saw  marauding  bands 
Insult  his  house,  o'errun  his  lands : 
His  daughter,  too, — might  she  not  be 
Subject  to  rough  brutality  ? 

His  fears  were  vain :  his  mansion  through, 
When  the  withdrawing  troop  went  down 
To  hold  their  quarter  in  the  town, 

Was  guarded  better  than  he  knew. 


162  THE   WAGONER   OF 


HEAD-QUARTEKS. 

O'ER  town  and  cottage,  vale  and  height, 
Down  came  the  Winter,  fierce  and  white, 
And  shuddering  wildly,  as  distraught 
At  horrors  his  own  hand  had  wrought. 

His  child,  the  young  Year,  newly  born, 

Cheerless,  cowering,  and  affrighted, 
Wailed  with  a  shivering  voice  forlorn, 

As  on  a  frozen  heath  benighted. 
In  vain  the  hearths  were  set  aglow, 

In  vain  the  evening  lamps  were  lighted, 
To  cheer  the  dreary  realm  of  snow  : 
Old  Winter's  brow  would  not  be  smoothed, 
Nor  the  young  Year's  wailing  soothed. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  163 

How  sad  the  wretch  at  morn  or  eve 
Compelled  his  starving  home  to  leave, 
Who,  plunged  breast-deep  from  drift  to  drift, 
Toils  slowly  on  from  rift  to  rift, 
Still  hearing  in  his  aching  ear 
The  cry  his  fancy  whispers  near, 
Of  little  ones  who  weep  for  bread 
Within  an  ill-provided  shed ! 

But  wilder,  fiercer,  sadder  still, 
Freezing  the  tear  it  caused  to  start, 

Was  the  inevitable  chill 

Which  pierced  a  nation's  agued  heart, — 

A  nation  with  its  naked  breast 

Against  the  frozen  barriers  prest, 

Heaving  its  tedious  way  and  slow 

Through  shifting  gulfs  and  drifts  of  woe, 

Where  every  blast  that  whistled  by 

Was  bitter  with  its  children's  cry. 

Such  was  the  winter's  awful  sight 
For  many  a  dreary  day  and  night, 
What  time  our  country's  hope  forlorn, 
Of  every  needed  comfort  shorn, 
Lay  housed  within  a  hurried  tent, 
Where  every  keen  blast  found  a  rent, 


164  THE   WAGONER   OF 

And  oft  the  snow  was  seen  to  sift 
Along  the  floor  its  piling  drift, 
Or,  mocking  the  scant  blankets'  fold, 
Across  the  night-couch  frequent  rolled ; 
Where  every  path  by  a  soldier  beat, 

Or  every  track  where  a  sentinel  stood, 
Still  held  the  print  of  naked  feet, 

And  oft  the  crimson  stains  of  blood ; 
Where  Famine  held  her  spectral  court, 

And  joined  by  all  her  fierce  allies : 
She  ever  loved  a  camp  or  fort 

Beleaguered  by  the  wintry  skies, — 
But  chiefly  when  Disease  is  by, 
To  sink  the  frame  and  dim  the  eye, 
Until,  with  seeking  forehead  bent, 

In  martial  garments  cold  and  damp, 
Pale  Death  patrols  from  tent  to  tent, 

To  count  the  charnels  of  the  camp. 

Such  was  the  winter  that  prevailed 
Within  the  crowded,  frozen  gorge ; 

Such  were  the  horrors  that  assailed 
The  patriot  band  at  Valley  Forge. 

It  was  a  midnight  storm  of  woes 

To  clear  the  sky  for  Freedom's  morn ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  165 

And  such  must  ever  be  the  throes 
The  hour  when  Liberty  is  born. 

The  chieftain,  by  his  evening  lamp, 

Whose  flame  scarce  cheered  the  hazy  damp, 

Sat  toiling  o'er  some  giant  plan, 

With  maps  and  charts  before  him  spread, 
Beholding  in  his  warrior  scan 

The  paths  which  through  the  future  led. 

But  oft  his  eye  was  filmed  and  dim, 
And  oft  his  aching  bosom  yearned, 
As  through  the  camp  his  fancy  turned 

And  saw  sad  eyes  which  bent  on  him 

The  look  which  they  in  pain  had  learned. 

The  sunken  orbs  of  hunger  there, 

With  those  that  throbbed  in  fever-rage, 
As  he  their  suffering  might  assuage, 

Turned  on  him  their  imploring  stare. 

And  when  he  spoke  the  kindly  word 

Oft  from  his  lips  of  pity  heard, 

And  saw  those  eyes  grow  bright  the  while 
They  caught  the  courage  of  his  smile, 

His  sorrowing  heart  was  doubly  stirred. 


THE  WAGONER  OF 

And,  to  relieve  his  burdened  breast, 
His  face  into  his  hands  he  prest, 
And  poured  his  secret  soul  in  prayer, 
Where  hope  still  rose  above  despair. 

And  there  was  seated  by  his  side 
The  noblest  of  a  noble  line : 
Her  whole  soul  in  her  face  benign, 
Through  love  and  suffering  purified, 
Shone  worthy  such  a  chieftain's  bride. 

And  not  alone  his  prayer  was  given, — 
She  joined  him  in  imploring  Heaven  : 
Those  prayers  fell  not  in  barren  sands 

Beside  Oblivion's  fruitless  sea, 
But,  borne  aloft  by  angel  hands, 

They  bloomed  to  flowers  of  victory. 

The  eve  was  late  :  naught  met  the  ear, 
But  tramp  of  sentinel  marching  near, 
Or  soft  and  feathery  beat  of  snow 

Blown  light  against  the  window-pane, 
To  melt  thereon,  and  tearlike  flow, 
As  if  the  sympathetic  glow 

Within  had  turned  each  flake  to  rain. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  167 

At  times  there  came  the  slumbrous  sound 

Of  waters  toiling  at  the  mill, 
Still  singing,  though  in  fetters  bound, 

The  song  learned  on  their  natal  hill. 

Let  Winter,  with  oppressive  will, 
Bind  down  the  stream  with  chains  of  ice, 
His  utmost  power  shall  not  suffice 

To  keep  that  heart  of  Freedom  still : 
Though  prisoned  in  the  frozen  pond, 

It  only  reinforcement  waits 

To  burst  the  tyrant's  heavy  gates 
And  leap  to  liberty  beyond. 

Thus  with  the  tranquil  flood  of  power 
Within  that  camp  of  ice  and  snow ; 
Though  all  was  silent  outward  show, 

They  did  but  wait  the  opening  hour. 

The  night  was  late :  the  chieftain  heard 
Approaching  footsteps  up  the  yard ; 

A  knock :  he  rose,  and  gave  the  word  : 
The  door  swung  wide ;  the  snowy  guard 

Announced,  with  some  unwonted  stir, 

An  unexpected  visitor, 

With  two  attendants  there  beside. 

It  was  a  maid  with  cloak  of  fur, 


168  THE   WAGONER   OF 

And  hood,  so  closely  round  her  tied 
That  well  the  storm  had  been  defied. 

So  thick  the  snow  was  o'er  her  blown, 
So  flaxen  was  the  falling  braid 
Beside  the  rosy  cheek  displayed, 
She  looked  like  some  fair  Norland  maid 

Wrapped  in  a  robe  of  eider-down. 

Beside  her  stood  a  youth  whose  mien 

Brought  to  the  chief's  remembering  eye 
The  stripling  hero  he  had  seen 

Bearing  a  banner  proudly  high, 
Within  a  light-horse  flying  line, 
That  fearful  day  at  Brandywine. 
The  other  was  that  sturdy  dame 

The  housekeeper :  you  saw  it  all 
In  one  glance  at  that  stately  frame, 

Queen  of  the  keys  of  Berkley  Hall. 

The  maid  a  moment  seemed  to  stand 
Abashed  before  that  presence  high : 
He  read  it  in  her  timid  eye, 

And  took  in  his  her  trembling  hand. 

She  felt  her  young  blood  swifter  run ; 
Her  heart  could  not  regain  its  calm ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  169 

Her  little  hand  lay  in  his  palm, — 
The  noble  palm  of  Washington  ! 

Then  rose  the  lady,  with  serene, 
Sweet  looks  o'er  all  her  stately  mien ; 

And  she  too  took  her  hand,  and  spoke 
In  winning  accents  low  and  mild  : — 
"  It  is  a  stormy  night,  my  child, 
For  one  so  young  to  be  abroad ; — 
Or  have  you  wandered  from  your  road  ? 

Pray,  loose  your  snowy  hood  and  cloak, 
And  warm  you  well  beside  the  fire, 
And  take  the  rest  which  you  require. 
Shrink  not  because  the  place  is  small : 
Our  hearts,  we  trust,  have  room  for  all." 

"When  Esther  answered,  "  Noble  friends, 
We  have  not  wandered  from  our  way, 
Nor  need  we  now  for  warmth  delay ; 

Our  glowing  purpose  freely  sends 

Its  heat,  and  we  would  straightway  do 

The  duty  Heaven  directs  us  to. 

Much  have  we  heard  of  all  the  ills 
Suffered  along  these  winter  hills, — 

15 


170  THE   WAGONER  OF 

Of  famine  in  the  frozen  camp, 
Of  cheerless  couches,  cold  and  damp, 
"Where  sickness  breathes  its  painful  breath 
Mid  bitter  wants  that  usher  Death. 

Hence  have  we  come,  with  courage  armed, 
With  every  deep  compassion  warmed, 
To  do  the  little  in  our  power 
To  soothe  the  suffering  of  the  hour. 
Our  sleigh  is  standing  at  the  door, 
Laden  with  such  poor,  hasty  store 
As  one  home  from  its  winter  hoard 
Can  to  a  bleeding  cause  afford : 
And  now  it  but  remains  to  ask 
Permission  to  assume  our  task." 

She  ceased,  and  stood  with  glowing  cheek,- 
So  beautiful,  so  young  and  meek, 
She  seemed  an  answer  to  their  prayer, — 
A  very  pitying  angel  there. 

The  chieftain's  eye  grew  dim  with  mist, 
His  heart  was  all  too  full  to  speak ; 
The  lady's  arm  the  maiden  prest, 
She  drew  her  to  her  matron  breast 

And  tenderly  her  forehead  kissed. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  171 

The  chief  put  out  his  hands,  and  smiled, — 
He  laid  them  on  her  golden  hair, 
And  said,  in  feeling  words  of  prayer, 

"  Grod  bless  you,  noble  child !" 


172  THE  WAGONER  OF 


VII. 

THE    WINTER    CAMP. 

'TWAS  midnight  in  the  soldier's  shed, 
Where  lay  upon  his  burning  bed 
The  sufferer,  to  whose  fever-glow 
Most  welcome  came  the  gusts  of  snow, 
On  searching  night-winds,  icy  thin, 
Through  every  cranny  blowing  in, 
Filling  the  place  with  frequent  mist, 
That  round  the  one  poor  taper  hissed. 

Close  at  his  side  an  aged  man 
Sat,  like  a  good  Samaritan, 
Pouring  the  sacred  oil  and  balm, 
His  pains  and  spirit-wounds  to  calm. 
A  cloth  about  his  brow  was  bound, 
To  shield  a  deep  and  stubborn  wound, 


^U      I-  I  v  ,,  n  y  . 

0V   THE 
THE  ALLEGE  ANIES/m  ]J  \  V  B-35  S  I 

While  round  his  neck  the  intruding 
Lifted  and  fanned  his  thin  gray  hair. 
Across  his  knees  his  warrior  sword 
Sustained  the  book  o'er  which  he  pored : 
The  leaves  were  yellow,  old,  and  stained, 

And  oft  by  fluttering,  rude  winds  stirred, 
But  still  his  aged  eyesight  strained 

To  read  the  sacred,  unstained  Word. 

But  who  was  she  who  knelt  beside, 

And  held  the  sick  man's  hand  in  hers, 

Feeling  such  pain  as  only  stirs 
The  breast  where  love  and  truth  abide  ? 
It  needs  but  one  glance  to  suffice 
To  know  those  large  and  dewy  eyes ; 
But  keener  sight  'twould  take,  I  ween, 
To  recognize  that  altered  mien 
Of  him  whose  features  scarcely  prove 
The  Edgar  of  her  hope  and  love. 

But  saddest  of  her  painful  lot 
To  look  into  those  eyes  which  burned, 
To  find  no  answering  look  returned, — • 
Those  eyes  whose  gladness  ever  flew 
In  love  to  hers,  with  pleasure  new  : — 

Alas  !  alas  1  he  knew  her  not ! 


174 


THE   WAGONER   OF 

A  moment  thus  in  prayers  and  tears 
Her  bosom  poured  its  flood  of  fears ; 
But,  conscious  that,  though  blind  with  pain, 

His  heart  was  hers,  and  hers  alone, 
She  summoned  strength,  and  stood  again 

Strong  in  his  love  and  in  her  own. 
As  one  who  on  a  battle-plain, 
Feeling  his  life-blood  dew  the  ground, 
Seizes  the  scarf  which  love  had  bound 
With  trembling  hands  his  breast  around, 
And  thrusts  it  in  the  bleeding  wound 
To  staunch  the  crimson  tide  of  life, 
Then  springs  anew  to  join  the  strife, 
To  give,  perchance,  the  fatal  blow 
Which  lays  the  invading  foeman  low, — 
So  rose  the  maid,  and  firmly  prest 
His  love  into  her  bleeding  breast, 
And  strove,  with  all  such  hands  can  do, 
To  win  him  back  to  health  anew. 

It  was  a  charmed  sight  to  see 

How  lovingly  she  came  and  went, — - 

How  like  a  sunbeam,  silently, 

She  cheered  and  warmed  that  winter  tent. 

Her  cloak  of  fur  around  the  wall 
She  hung,  to  intercept  the  blast ; 


THE  ALLEG-HANIES.  175 

Across  the  door  was  spread  her  shawl, 
And  every  cranny  was  made  fast. 

Nor  here  alone  her  care  was  given : 
She  daily  passed  from  shed  to  shed  ; 

The  early  morn,  the  noon,  the  even, 

Still  found  her  near  some  sufferer's  bed. 

And  striving  oft,  as  she  had  striven, 
There  praying  mid  the  sick  and  dead, 
She  saw  the  chieftain's  bowing  head, 
And  heard  his  word  of  courage  said : 
Where'er  they  smiled  there  seemed  to  spread 

The  soft  and  healing  breath  of  Heaven. 

Not  fruitless  was  her  constant  care, 
And  not  unheard  her  daily  prayer : 
The  blackest  cloud  of  all  was  past ; 

New  sunshine  filled  the  winter  skies ; 
Hope  came  to  Edgar's  couch  at  last : 

No  more  her  face  his  glance  denies ; 

His  soul  responded  through  his  eyes 

With  all  the  warmth  which  love  supplies. 

And  with  the  first  returning  breath — 
A  breath  as  sweet  as  that  which  stirs 

Through  April  boughs,  when  all  the  woods 


176  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Feel  the  first  thrill  of  promised  buds — 
He  owned  his  soul  was  doubly  hers, 
Since  she  had  called  it  back  from  death. 

One  day,  as  by  the  scanty  fire 
She  strove  to  make  it  sparkle  higher, 
The  while  her  patient's  slender  form 
Was  propt  beside,  and  mantled  warm, 
The  old  man,  Edgar's  patriot  sire, 
Entered  with  overshadowed  brow, 

And  said,  "  Sweet  daughter,  come  with  me 
I  fear  another  couch  may  now 
Lay  claim  to  your  fidelity. 
The  strange  wild  woman  you  so  oft 
Encountered  in  your  winter  round, 
And  who  so  frequently  you  found 
Soothing  the  sick  with  accents  soft, — 
Accents  which  suited  not  the  dress, 
So  fitted  for  the  wilderness, — 
Now  lies  a  victim  to  the  spell 
Which  she  in  others  strove  to  quell, 
With  fever  sorely  racked  and  thrilled, 
Mid  kindly  hands,  but  all  unskilled. 

I  have  not  yet  forgot  the  day 
When  on  the  battle-field  I  lay 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  177 

Almost  in  death,  she  was  the  first 
To  slake  my  fever-flame  of  thirst, 
Or  how  within  the  secret  cave 

She  tended  me  so  well  and  long, 
Cheering  me  oft  with  some  wild  stave 

Of  ballad  or  of  mountain-song, 
And  oft,  as  though  I  were  a  child, 

(There's  something  in  her  brain  amiss,) 
Telling  some  legend  strange  and  wild. 

For  this But  nay, — it  needs  not  this 

To  wake  compassion  in  your  eyes : — 
A  human  creature  suffering  lies." 

Then  Esther  rose,  and  joined  her  guide, 
And  reached  the  shed  where  Nora  lay ; 

But,  when  she  stood  by  Nora's  side, 
Her  heart  of  courage  sank  away. 

For,  oh,  it  was  a  piteous  sight 

To  see  those  eyes  so  strangely  bright, 

And  all  that  flood  of  scattered  hair 

As  blown  by  winds  of  wild  despair, 

And  all  the  trappings  of  her  dress 

Flung  wide  by  hands  of  hot  distress ! 

There  Ugo  by  the  wagoner  stood, 
And  both  in  anxious,  gloomy  mood ; 


178  THE  WAGONER  OF 

She  stared  upon  the  wondering  child, 
Then  wept  as  o'er  some  burning  thought, 

Then  gazed  at  Kingbolt  strangely  wild, 

And  laughed,  as  though  her  pain  were  naught. 

The  saddest  of  all  sounds  that  flow 

Is  laughter  forced  from  deeps  of  woe. 

A  moment  on  the  maid  she  glanced, 
As  if  her  spirit  hung  entranced, 
And  now,  with  curious,  searching  scan, 
Surveyed  the  pitying,  gray -haired  man, 
And  spoke  with  low,  mysterious  air: — 
"  Thou  poor  young  bride,  beware !  beware  ! 
Oh,  wed  not  with  that  cold  white  hair ! 
That  summer  smile  is  but  device : — 
His  breast  is  snow,  his  heart  is  ice. 

Oh,  cold  was  the  bridegroom, 
All  frozen  with  pride  ! — 

He  first  slew  her  lover, 

Then  made  her  his  bride. 
Ringbolt,  how  goes  the  battle  ?     Ho  ! 
Fly,  Ugo  !— fly  !  the  foe  !— the  foe ! 
A  stealthy  trick  ! — but  they  shall  know 
The  stricken  can  return  the  blow  ! 
The  tyrant  and  his  host  shall  flee, — 
When  patriots  strike,  they  shall  De  free ! 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  179 

Our  flag  like  a  meteor 

Sweeps  down  through  the  fight: 
It  brightens  the  valley 

And  burns  on  the  height. 

Oh,  did  you  not  see 

How  it  sprung  like  a  flame 
When  the  voice  of  the  nation 

Called  Freedom  by  name  ? 

On  the  soul  of  the  tyrant 

That  mighty  name  fell, 
As  in  Gessler's  heart  quivered 

The  arrow  of  Tell !" 

Thus  sang  she,  and  fell  back  with  breath 
Drawn  faint,  as  through  the  lips  of  death ; 
The  life  within  the  frame  consumed 
Seemed  scarce  again  to  be  illumed. 
Then  Ringbolt  gazed  on  her  with  eye 
Of  pain, — almost  of  agony, — 
And  said,  with  heavy,  solemn  tongue, 
"  'Tis  hard  for  one  so  good  and  young 
To  suffer  thus !     The  poor  white  dove 
Was  murdered  by  a  falcon's  love  !" 


180  THE  WAGONER  OF 

Then  Esther  said,  "  Indeed,  my  frien  Is, 

It  is  a  sight  which  sadly  sends 

The  blood  back  on  the  heart,  to  see 

Such  depths  of  human  misery. 

Oh,  surely  this  wild,  dismal  camp 

Is  all  too  rough  and  cold  and  damp : 

'Twere  better  if  she  were  conveyed 

And  in  some  quiet  chamber  laid, 

Mid  hands  that  know  to  tend  and  spread 

The  comforts  of  a  sufferer's  bed, 

Where  pity  only  holds  control, 

With  not  a  sound  to  vex  the  soul. 

And  such  a  room  my  heart  allows, 

Within  a  well-provided  house, 

And  well  I  know  her  couch  will  find 

The  hands  attendant,  gentle,  kind ; 

For  Hulda,  ever  good  and  mild, 

Will  guard  her  as  she  were  her  child. 

Haste,  Ugo,  haste,  and  bring  the  sleigk, 

And  let  her  be  enwrapt  straightway : 

'Tis  but  a  short  two  hours'  ride ; 

So  easily  her  course  shall  glide, 

So  deep  shall  be  her  bed  of  fur, 

So  soft  and  noiseless  be  the  stir, 

That  she  may  sleep  and  never  know 

How  swiftly  fly  the  miles  below." 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  181 

A  moment  there  was  seen  to  go 

O'er  Ringbolt's  face  a  blackening  cloud: 
At  length  his  nodding  forehead  bowed : 

"  Perchance,"  he  said,  "  'twere  better  so." 

The  sleigh  was  brought,  and  many  a  fold 
Of  fur  and  blanket  wrapt  her  form ; 

And  now  within  the  wagoner's  hold, 
Like  a  light  infant,  close  and  warm, 

She  lay, — and  thus,  beside  the  maid, 

To  Berkley  Mansion  was  conveyed. 

He  bore  her  up  the  shadowy  stair, 
The  wildered  sufferer  knew  not  where, 
And  in  a  chamber  warm  and  large 
He  left  her  in  kind  Hulda's  charge. 

A  cup  of  wine, — bluff  words  of  thanks, — 
If  Esther  would  regain  the  camp, 

Ugo  must  be  her  guard  and  guide, — 
The  great  hall  heard  his  heavy  tramp, 

The  deep  snow  marked  his  giant  stride, 
Which  led  him  up  the  Schuylkill  banks 
To  join  again  his  waiting  ranks. 
16 


182  THE   WAGONEK  OF 


vm. 

THE    HERALDS. 

DAYS  came  and  went  round  Nora's  couch : 
If  there  was  need  of  aught  to  tell 
That  gentle  hands  attended  well, 

Her  mild  and  altered  mien  could  vouch. 

Weeks  came  and  went,  and  every  day 

Brought  better  news  from  out  the  valley ; 
Each  tiding-tongue  was  glad  to  say 

The  troops,  the  cause,  all  seemed  to  rally. 
And  Esther's  heart,  though  still  her  sire 

Was  captive  in  the  royal  camp, 
Saw  Hope  re-fan  her  smouldering  fire 

Within  the  cloud's  desponding  damp. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  183 

'Twas  evening,  and  she  watched  the  gleam 
Of  moonlight  over  hill  and  stream ; 
Though  winter  now  was  wellnigh  through, 

And  springtime  promised  soon  to  blow, 
Still,  all  the  scene  which  met  her  view 

Lay  in  a  gleaming  robe  of  snow. 
She  sat  and  gazed  upon  the  stars, 

As  on  a  banner  there  unfurled, 

And  wondered  if  each  sparkling  world 
Was  shocked  like  this  with  martial  jars, — 

If  through  those  tranquil,  silver  skies 

Stern  warriors  bent  devoted  eyes 
In  worship  on  the  planet  Mars. 

She  mused, — when  Hulda's  waking  hand 

Was  laid  upon  her  resting  arm, 

And,  looking  up  with  mild  alarm, 
She  saw  within  the  moonlight  stand 
Another,  whose  brave  feet  had  paced 
Through  paths  of  snow  in  breathless  haste. 

"  I  come" — this  was  her  hurried  word, 
She  scarcely  seemed  for  breath  to  pause — 

"  To  you,  for  I  have  often  heard 

Your  heart  is  with  our  patriot  cause : 


184  THE   WAGONER   OF 

You  have  swift  horses  at  command, 
And  have,  perchance,  some  trusty  hand 

By  whom  a  message  may  be  borne : 
The  word  I  bear  must  reach  our  band 

Before  to-morrow  morn." 

"  Speak  on  !"  the  startled  hearer  cried  : 
"  It  shall,  no  matter  what  betide  1" 

"  Our  enemy  a  plan  has  laid — 
I  got  the  news,  it  boots  not  how — 

By  which  our  camp  shall  be  betrayed, 

And  all  our  noble  army  made 
To  bite  the  dust,  or  basely  bow. 

This  was  their  threat ; — and  even  now 
Their  rapid  horsemen  form  in  line, 
And  ere  the  dawn  'tis  their  design 

To  strike  the  fatal  blow. 

This  is  the  news :  I  pray  you  speed : 
The  hour  is  short,  and  dire  the  need : 

I  have  no  time  to  answer  more ; 
But  if  our  noble  chief  would  know 
The  source  from  which  these  tidings  flow, 
Then  tell  him  boldly,  undeterred, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  185 

'Tis  Lydia  Darrach's  faithful  word,(9) 
Which  served  him  once  before." 

"  Thanks,  noble  heart !"  young  Esther  cried, 
And  flung  her  daring  tresses  wide  : 

"  Spite  every  danger  or  mishap, 
Ere  yon  low  moon  shall  disappear, 
The  news  shall  reach  our  General's  ear 

Though  death  stood  in  the  gap  !" 

Waiting  no  more  to  hear  or  say, 
The  herald  took  her  homeward  way. 

"Now,  Ugo!" — this  was  Esther's  call, — 
"  Bridle  the  swiftest  steed  in  stall, 
Fly  with  the  news  you  just  have  heard, 
And  let  our  chieftain  know  the  word." 

"  A  steed  !"  he  answered ;  "  but  suppose 
The  road  should  be  beset  with  foes, 
The  boldest  rider  scarce  would  do 
To  bear  such  needful  tidings  through. 
No,  no :  I  have  a  better  way, — 

One  quite  as  swift,  and  far  more  sure ; 
Nor  horse  nor  man  my  course  shall  stay, 

I  shall  be  mounted  so  secure." 


THE   WAGONER   OF 

She  stared  at  him.  with  puzzled  brow, 

But  he  nor  look  nor  answer  stayed  ; 

She  heard  the  rattling  which  he  made 
Within  the  dusky  hall  below  ; 
She  saw  him  dash  across  the  snow, 

Until  he  gained  the  frozen  river, 
Watched  him  a  moment  bending  low, 
Then,  like  an  arrow  from  the  bow, 
Beheld  his  flying  figure  go 

On  skates,  with  many  a  flash  and  quiver, 
As  if  the  glistening  ice  and  steel, 
In  lightning,  would  his  speed  reveal. 

The  smile  applauded  the  device : 

She  watched  him,  with  a  glad  surprise, 
Until  he  vanished  from  her  eyes. 
But  suddenly,  with  fear  renewed, 
She  stood  in  anxious  attitude : — 
That  messenger  upon  the  ice, 
It  might,  and  yet  might  not,  suffice. 
If  highways  held  the  foeman  wolf, 
The  river  also  had  its  gulf, 
And  'twas  the  season  when  the  sun 
Old  Winter's  work  had  half  undone ; 
The  snowy  eaves  were  thawed  at  noon, 
The  thinning  ice  must  vanish  soon ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  187 

The  moon,  too,  hung  with  sinking  disk ; 

Her  light  would  shortly  be  at  end. 

No,  no :  it  would  not  do  to  send 
One  messenger  on  such  a  risk  : 
All  must  be  staked  to  win  or  lose ; 
In  such  a  cause,  who  stayed  to  choose  ? 

In  haste  she  ordered  out  the  sleigh : 

None  heard  the  maid  her  purpose  say ; 

'Twas  not  for  others'  ears  discussed, 

For  there  was  none  whom  she  would  trust, 

Save  Hulda,  and  her  duty  lay 

Round  suffering  Nora  night  and  day. 

Alone  she  mounted,  without  pause, 

To  save,  perchance,  her  country's  cause : 

Away,  away,  the  light  car  flew ; 

The  hoofs  flung  up  the  powdery  snow  ; 

Swift  as  a  river  seemed  to  flow 
The  road  beneath,  where,  slipping  through 
The  crispy  foam  with  whistling  shrieks, 
The  runners  left  their  glistening  streaks. 

Oh,  enviable  star  in  heaven 
That  looked  through  that  still  crystal  even, 
And  saw  how  those  two  heralds  went, 
Each  on  the  same  high  mission  bent, — 


188  THE   WAGONER  OF 

One  on  a  road  of  ice  below, 
One  on  a  atreamlike  road  of  snow, 
The  locks  of  each  flung  backward  far, 
And  trailing  like  a  meteor  star : 
Oh,  ne'er  before  sped  soul  with  soul 
In  holier  race  for  earthly  goal ! 

Just  as  the  last  hill-top  was  neared, 
And  the  swift  horses  slackened  pace, 
A  voice,  as  if  it  broke  through  space, 
Pealed  to  the  welkin  as  it  cheered, 
Announcing  the  last  danger  cleared : — • 
'Twas  Ugo's  wild,  triumphant  mirth, 
Einging  as  it  would  circle  earth. 

And  thus  the  two  young  heralds  met, 
In  spite  of  foes  about  them  set, 

In  spite  of  dark  and  wintry  weather, 
And  to  the  grateful  patriot  chief, 
In  burning  language  plain  and  brief, 

Delivered  their  great  news  together ; 
And  soon  the  horses,  flecked  with  foam, 
Well  pleased,  were  turned  again  for  home. 
While  Ugo  took  the  guiding  rein, 
Thus  held  the  maid  her  musing  vein  : — 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  189 

"  Now  the  moon  has  left  her  track, 

Dropt  behind  the  mountain-bars ; 

Paly  shine  the  cold  white  stars, 
And  the  pale  earth  answers  back ; 
All  the  world  a  shadow  lies, 

Darkly,  breathless,  deathly  still, 
While  above  us  hang  the  skies, 
Throbbing  to  our  throbbing  eyes, 
Till  the  fancy  almost  hears 

Something  of  the  strains  that  thrill, 
Passing  through  the  happy  spheres. 

Yonder  the  great  Northern  Wain 
Kings  across  the  azure  plain, 

Nightly  rolling  toward  the  goal 

Of  the  ever-steadfast  Pole : 

Every  steed  in  that  great  car 

On  his  forehead  wears  a  star, 
Proud  with  bells  upon  his  mane. 

Sweetest  of  the  chimes  of  heaven 
Is  yon  clustered  sister-seven, 
In  their  turret's  misty  height, 
Like  a  stem  of  lilies  white, — • 
Our  sweet  valley  Pleiades, 
Kinging  perfume  on  the  breeze. 


190  THE  WAGONER  OF 

Ring,  sweet  sisters,  clearer  still : 
My  heart  listens  for  the  thrill 
From  your  sacred  belfrey-cell : 
Pour  your  chime ;  but,  ah,  the  knell 
Floats  from  off  your  silver  lips 
For  that  lost  one  in  eclipse ! 

Lost ! — ah,  no  :  she  is  not  lost ; 
Her  song  was  too  fine  and  sweet 
With  your  singing  to  compete ; 

On  some  more  celestial  coast 

She  is  now  the  angels'  boast, 

With  her  joy  forever  told, 

In  a  tower  of  shining  gold. 

Ring,  sweet  stars  of  heaven,  anew, 
And  my  heart  will  sing  with  you ; 
Ring  ! — oh,  ring ! — that  I  may  hear 
And  feel  that  heaven  is  sometimes  near." 

Thus  Esther  in  her  happy  breast 

The  pleasure  of  her  soul  confest ; 

For  she  was  glowing  with  a  sense 

(Although  the  thought  had  scarcely  heed) 
That  she  had  done  a  sacred  deed 

Which  was  its  own  sweet  recompense. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  191 

The  singing  sleigh,  the  horses'  tread, 
Slow  pacing  homeward  at  their  will, 

The  flowing  road  that  backward  sped, 

The  stars  that  chased  her  overhead, 
Like  heavenly  guardians  with  her  still, 
The  crystal  air,  but  not  too  chill, 

All  soothed  her  with  a  gentle  calm, 

As  if  a  cool  and  tender  palm 

Were  on  her  tranquil  forehead  prest 

To  woo  her  into  peaceful  rest. 

And  Ugo  held  in  dreamy  spell 

The  reins  which  seemed  about  to  fall ; 

But  homeward  steeds  remember  well 

The  road  which  leads  them  to  their  stall. 

All  nature  seemed  as  it  were  fanned 

With  Slumber's  cool  and  downy  pinions ; 

But,  hold ! — the  steeds  are  at  full  stand ! 
Around  them  close  the  foeman's  minions ! 

Is  she  awake,  or  does  she  dream  ? 
The  sword-flash  that  before  her  stirs, 

The  scarlet  coat,  the  helmet's  gleam, 
The  bursting  laugh  of  rude  derision, 
A  rough  voice  shouting,  "Prisoners!" 


192  THE  WAGGONER. 

A  soldier  at  each  horse's  rein, 

And  Ugo  dragged  among  the  train, — 

All  this  proclaims  it  is  no  vision. 
The  boy  is  loud, — lie  will  not  stay  : 
A  boy  is  he,  armed  soldiers  they. 
"  What  men  are  ye,"  she  strove  to  say, 
11  Who  dare  to  stop  a  lady's  way  ? 

I  charge  ye,  off!     Unbind  the  boy  !" 
Whereat  the  captain's  voice  replied, 
Close  at  the  startled  maiden's  side, 

"  Lady,  we  wish  not  to  annoy 
Further  than  strictest  duty  calls  : 
Be  not  alarmed :  if  aught  befalls 
Amiss,  the  fault  shall  not  be  ours, — 
We  serve  the  cause  of  higher  powers : 
Though  it  seem  hard,  and  you  condemn, 
Our  prisoner,  you  must  go  to  them." 

He  took  the  reins,  and  said  no  more : 
With  mounted  men  to  guard  them  down, 

Even  past  her  own  unhappy  door 
She  went  a  captive  to  the  town. 


PAET    III, 


17 


THE    TANKAKD    OF    WINE. 

OH,  what  delight  is  in  the  air 
What  time  the  new-born  spring  is  there  I 
How  sweet  it  is  on  the  breezy  slope, 
Mid  flowers  in  bloom  or  about  to  ope, 
When  the  dog-wood,  like  a  maiden  dight 
In  bridal  robes  of  snowy  white, 
Beside  the  flaming  maple  stands, 
While  the  oak,  with  priestly  hands 
Spread  above  their  bowing  heads, 
His  whispering  benediction  sheds ; 
Where  never  a  careless  wind  forgets 
To  tell  of  the  woodland  violets, 
Or  how  it  half  forgot  to  pass 
From  spice-wood  boughs  and  sassafras ; 

195 


196  THE  WAGONER  OF 

And,  like  the  soul  of  a  mocking-bird, 
Repeating  every  song  it  heard, 
Each  sweeter  for  being  brought  afar, 
As  all  the  joys  of  memory  are. 

Such  Esther  knew  were  the  delights 
Clothing  the  valley  and  the  heights ; 
And  every  perfumed  air  she  met, 

Fresh  breathing  of  the  wood  and  field, 
Filled  her  with  longings  and  regret 

For  joys  the  city  could  not  yield. 

Had  she  a  pleasure  in  her  breast, 
In  secret  it  was  all  suppressed ; 
For  every  look  and  every  tone 
Proclaimed  her  Melancholy's  own. 

'Twas  true,  her  captive  chains  were  light, — 
Another  might  have  deemed  them  bright ; 
But,  light  or  bright,  she  felt  the  pain 
Of  knowing  that  there  was  a  chain 
Which  flowers,  though  twined  with  subtlest  art, 
+      Could  not  make  welcome  to  her  heart : 
They  could  "but  hide  from  others'  stare 
The  galling  weight  she  knew  was  there. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  197 

The  city  and  its  farthest  street 
Were  free  to  her  unfettered  feet ; 
But  there  was  still  that  line  beyond, 
O'er  which  her  feelings,  wildly  fond, 
Took  yearning  wing,  and  well  she  knew 
She  could  not  follow  where  they  flew. 

Sir  Hugh  grew  daily  more  appeased : 
He  mingled  with  the  martial  court, 
His  fetters  seemed  but  things  of  sport, 

And  even  now  might  be  released 

If  he  in  any  slight  degree 

Would  bow  and  sue  for  liberty. 

But  no  !  they  had  assailed  his  pride  : 

His  loyalty  had  been  denied : 

He  would  not  bow  the  suppliant  limb, — • 

Nay,  rather  they  must  bow  to  him. 

And  now,  too,  all  he  held  most  dear 

Next  to  his  pride,  his  child,  was  here, 

And  many  a  noble  officer 

Bowed  supplely  low  to  him  and  her ; 

And  even  those  with  hearts  allied 

In  secret  to  the  patriot  side 

Made  him  obeisance ;  for  they  deemed 

He  might  be  other  than  he  seemed. 
17* 


198  THE  WAGONER  OF 

These  flattering  tributes  to  him  paid 
Gave  sweet  contentment,  and  he  stayed. 


'Twas  twilight,  and  the  evening  air 
Came  dancing  over  Delaware, 
Fanning  the  easy  sailor's  hair, 
Who  laughed  and  quaffed  away  his  care, 
With  merry  song  and  gusty  din, 
Under  the  stoop  before  the  inn, 
Where  soon,  arrayed  in  colors  fine, 
Two  officers  of  the  royal  line 
Reeled  singing  in  at  the  open  door, 

Aflush  with  pleasure  and  with  wine : 
'Twas  noble,  they  said, — or  rather  swore, — 

With  such  a  general  to  dine. 

Each  face  was  scarlet  as  their  dress : 

The  whole  man  seemed  to  loom  and  shine, 
As  if  the  red  blood  of  the  vine 

Its  glowing  presence  would  express 
By  every  visible  outward  sign. 

"  Ho,  landlord  of  the  'Ship  and  Sheaf,' 
Bring  us  a  flagon,  and  be  brief! 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  199 

We  must  not  let  the  tide  go  by, 
To  leave  us  stranded  high  and  dry, 
Or  wait  to-morrow's  evening  flood 
To  lift  us  o'er  the  sand  and  mud ; 
'Twill  never  do  to  stick  aground 
While  other  barks  are  sailing  round : 
Let  loose  the  wine,  and,  should  that  fail, 
Then  swim  us  off  with  good  brown  ale !" 

Thus  shouted  they,  then  searched  the  gloom, 

To  note  what  guests  were  in  the  room : 

Their  glance  found  only  two  beside. 

"  Two  fellows  there  I  think  I  spied," 

Thus  whispered  one.     "  Nay,  there  are  more," 

The  other  answered, — "  surely  four  : 

But  two,  perchance,  are  made  of  wine  1" 
Whereat  they  laughed ;  and  still  they  swore 

'Twas  noble,  glorious,  and  divine 

With  such  a  general  to  dine. 

"  Ho,  landlord,  bring  another  flask, 
To  nerve  us  for  to-morrow's  task  1 
To-morrow's  task  !     Ah,  that  will  be 
A  scene  of  such  rare  chivalry 
That  all  shall  go  jay -mad  to  see ! — 


200  THE   WAGONER   OF 

A  thousand  times  more  bright  and  fine 
Than  Germantown  or  Brandywine  ! 
How  those  poor  devils  in  the  gorge, 
Hidden  away  at  Valley  Forge, 
In  their  tatterdemalion  rags, 
Making  their  empty  rebel  brags, 
Would  ope  their  boorish  eyes  to  gaze 
Upon  the  splendors  which  shall  blaze 
And  burn,  until  the  night  is  spent, 
Around  our  glorious  tournament ! 
Come,  landlord,  drink,  before  we  go, 
A  bumper  to  the  royal  show  ! 

That  fellow  there,  who  seems  to  sulk 
And  in  the  shadowy  corner  skulk, 
Go  bring  him  out,  and  let  him  clear 
His  throat,  that  he  may  loudly  cheer 
The  golden  glories  he  shall  see 
Around  to-morrow's  pageantry ! 
Come,  sirrah,  when  a  colonel  bids, 
Nor  sit  with  scowl  like  pirate  Kidd's : 
This  wine  will  smooth  your  hostler  frown 
When  it  washes  the  hay- dust  down !" 

The  stranger  rose :  through  a  sideway  door 
He  pushed  a  young  companion  out, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  201 

Then  stood  a  moment  as  in  doubt, 
The  while  he  scanned  the  revellers  o'er, 
Then  strode  to  the  table  with  visage  grim, 
Demanding  what  they  would  with  him. 

"  To  drink  our  general's  health !"  they  cried. 
"  Our  general !"  boldly  he  replied, 

And  drained  the  goblet  willingly. 
"  And  to  our  tournament  beside  !" 

"  And  to  the  tournament !"  echoed  he ; 

"  And  may  I  be  on  hand  to  see  !" 

"Again !"  the  other  cried,  with  zest; 

"  Fill  high  ! — methinks  that  were  a  breast 

To  hold  a  gallon  in  its  chest, — 

And  let  the  toast  be  to  the  fair, — 

To  her  whose  colors  I  shall  wear, — 

The  badge  of  the  '  Burning  Mountain'  mine, 

1  The  maid  I  love'  my  motto  sign. 

Then  pledge  for  whom  I  set  the  lance, 

With  whom  in  banquet  I  shall  dance, — • 

Perchance" — he  hiccoughed,  and  waved  his  wine— 

"  To  her  who  may  be  bride  of  mine, — • 

I  have  the  father's  word  for  all : 

Or,  if  not  that" — with  drunken  leer 

He  whispered  in  his  comrade's  ear, 


202  THE   WAGONER   OF 

Then  laughed  till  the  cup  was  nigh  to  fall, 
And  shouted,  "  The  heiress  of  Berkley  Hall !" 

The  stranger's  tankard  was  ready  up ; 
Each  his  lip  was  about  to  dash, 
"When,  with  an  oath  like  a  thunder-crash, 
He  flashed  the  wine  in  the  speaker's  face 

And  into  the  other's  the  empty  cup, 
And  then,  with  heavy,  giant  pace, 
Strode  leisurely  beyond  the  place ; 
And,  ere  they  woke  from  their  disgrace, 

A  light  boat  and  a  springing  oar 

Had  borne  the  wagoner  far  from  shore. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  203 


UNIVERSITY 


II. 


THE    MESCHIANZA.<10> 

0  CITY  the  beloved  of  Perm, 
How  was  your  quiet  startled  when 
Eed  Mars  made  your  calm  harbor  glow 
With  all  the  splendors  he  can  show  ! 

How  looked  your  tranquil  founder  down 
That  day  upon  his  cherished  town, — 
That  town  which  in  the  sylvan  wild 
He  reared  and  tended  like  a  child  ? 

Methinks  that  patriarch  and  his  peers, 
Who  fashioned  all  your  staid  retreats, 
Groaned  then  in  their  celestial  seats 

With  sad  offended  eyes  and  ears ; 


THE   WAGONER  OF 

And,  had  their  loving  faith  allowed, 
That  day,  in  mournful  spirit  bowed, 
Each  had  turned  his  olive-wand 
Into  a  rod  of  reprimand. 

The  May  was  there, — the  blue-eyed  May  ; 
The  sweet  south  breeze  came  up  the  bay, 
Fanning  the  river  where  it  lay 
Voiceless,  with  astonished  stare, — 
The  great  sea-drinking  Delaware. 

There,  in  the  broad,  clear  afternoon, 
With  myriad  oars,  and  all  in  tune, 

A  swarm  of  barges  moved  away, 
In  all  their  grand  regatta  pride, 
As  bright  as  in  a  blue  lagune, 
When  gondolas  from  shore  to  shore 
Swam  round  the  golden  Bucentaur 

On  a  Venetian  holiday, 
What  time  the  Doge  threw  in  the  tide 
The  ring  which  made  the  sea  his  bride. 

Mid  these  were  mighty  platforms  drawn, 
Each  crowded  like  a  festal  lawn, — 
Great  swimming  floors,  o'er  which  were  rolled 
Cloth  of  scarlet,  green,  and  gold, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  205 

Like  tropic  isles  of  flowery  light 
Unmoored  by  some  enchanter's  might, 
O'erflowed  with  music,^loated  down 
Before  the  wharf-assembled  town. 

A  thousand  rowers  rocked  and  sung, 
A  thousand  light  oars  flashed  and  flung 
A  fairy  rainbow  where  they  sprung. 
Conjoining  with  the  singers'  voice, 

In  ecstatic  rival  trial, 
Every  instrument  of  choice, 

Mellow  flute  and  silver  vial, 
Wooed  the  soft  air  to  rejoice ; 
Till  on  wings  of  splendor  met, 
Clearer,  louder,  wilder  yet, 
Clarion  and  clarionet, 
And  the  bugle's  sailing  tone, 
As  from  lips  of  tempests  blown, 
Made  the  whole  wide  sky  its  own, 
Shivering  with  its  festal  jar 
The  aerial  dome  afar. 

Thus  the  music  past  the  town 
Winged  the  swimming  pageant  down, 
Till  with  one  loud  crash  it  dropt, 

And  the  bright  flotilla  stopt, 
18 


206  THE  WAGONER   OF 

Mooring  in  the  bannered  port 
At  the  flowery  wharves  of  Sport. 

§ 
There  wide  triumphal  arches  flamed 

With  painted  trophies,  which  proclaimed, 
With  mottoes  wrought  in  many  a  line 
Around  some  brave  heraldic  sign, 
That  all  the  splendors  here  displayed 
Were  honors  to  great  chieftains  paid. 

Pavilions  round  the  field  were  spread, 
With  flying  banners  overhead, 
Where,  on  a  high  and  central  throne, 
The  two  commanders  reigned  alone : 
The  admiral,  whose  powdered  hair 
Had  oft  been  fanned  by  ocean  air ; 
The  general,  whose  eye  oft  sped 
O'er  fields  transfused  from  green  to  red, 
As  if  the  very  plain  should  wear 
The  hue  his  army  held  so  dear, — 
Both  deeming  that  the  world  must  bow 
Before  the  awful  name  of  Howe. 

And  there, — oh,  feast  lor  painter's  heart, 
And  yet  a  light  to  mock  his  art, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  207 

To  kindle  all  a  poet's  fire, 

To  waken,  madden,  and  inspire, 

Y$t  leave  him  mastered  and  undone, 

As  faints  a  taper  in  the  sun, — 

Yes,  there,  in  many  a  beaming  row, 

Was  lit  such  beauty  as  might  glow 

Alone  in  fabled  tourney -rings 

Held  in  those  far  enchanted  scenes 
Where  all  are  princesses  and  queens 

And  all  the  jousting  knights  are  kings. 

Such  light  was  then  our  city's  boast ; 
And  such,  methinks,  it  has  not  lost : 
The  features  Stuart  loved  to  trace 

And  clothe  in  his  immortal  glow 
Are  met  by  many  a  soul-lit  face, 
Secured  by  Sully ^  touch  of  grace, 

As  bright  as  theirs  of  long  ago. 

0  noble  masters,  might  I  here 

Seize  the  light  pencil  from  your  grasp, 

Then  should  the  picture  reappear 
Which  vainly  I  attempt  to  clasp. 

What  though  the  vision  with  me  stays, 

The  awkward  pencil  tamely  strays, 


208  THE   WAGONER  OF 

And  leaves  me,  after  all  my  cost, 

To  sigh  above  my  labor  lost. 

But  ye  who  have  the  conjuring  will, 

The  painter's  gift,  the  poet's  heart, 
Take  the  rough  lines  I  cannot  fill, 

And  touch  them  with  your  clearer  art. 

In  middle  of  the  central  group — 

The  fairest  maidens  of  the  troop, 

Each  in  her  flowing  Turkish  dress— 

Sat  Esther,  in  her  loveliness. 

A  graceful  turban  bound  her  brow, 

Its  end  flung  back  in  gauzy  flow, 

And  from  its  sides  hung  loops  of  pearls, 

Dripping  among  the  golden  curls, 

While  on  its  snowy  front  was  set 

A  diamond  stellar  coronet, 

And  in  the  middle  of  the  stars 

A  red  rose  shone,  like  burning  Mars ; 

The  silken  robe,  of  ample  fold, 

Was  white,  and  bound  with  belt  of  gold, 

O'er  which  a  scarf  of  wondrous  lace 

Added  its  wealth  of  flowing  grace. 

Her  beauty  thrilled  the  gazing  crowd, 
And  made  the  heart  of  Berkley  glad ; 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  209 

But  if  Sir  Hugh  that  hour  was  proud, 
Still  prouder  was  the  stripling  lad, 

Brave  Ugo,  who  beside  her  chair, 

With  height  and'  form  beyond  his  age, 
Stood  near,  her  guardian  and  her  page ; 

His  large  dark  eyes  and  raven  hair 

To  hers  made  contrast  rich  and  rare ; 

And,  decked  in  Oriental  suit, 

He  looked  a  Turk  from  head  to  foot, 

Holding  superb  and  tranquil  mien, 

As  by  the  throne  of  a  sceptred  queen. 

Now  rang  the  bugle  to  the  cloud ; 

And  now  seven  knights,  in  brave  attire 
Of  white  and  scarlet  gayly  donned, 
On  chargers  well  caparisoned, 
And  each  attended  by  his  squire, 
Rode  in  before  the  admiring  crowd ; 

And  soft  eyes  sparkled  brightly  fond, 
As  each  before  his  lady  bowed. 

Then  rang  the  herald's  trumpet  higher, 
And  swelled  the  challenge  fiercely  loud : — 
"  The  brave  knights  of  '  The  Blended  Rose' 

Proclaim  the  fair  whom  they  defend 
Are  lovelier,  nobler  in  their  pride, 

Than  all  the  world  can  show  beside ; 
18* 


210  THE  WAGONEK  OF 

And  he  who  dares  this  vaunt  oppose 
We  challenge  to  the  direful  end !" 

Three  times  abroad  the  vaunt  was  thrown  ; 
And  now  another  bugle  blown, 
Flinging  its  scorn  around  the  heaven, 

Ushered  in  the  answering  troop, — 
The  gallant  and  defying  seven, 
In  suits  of  orange  and  of  black, 
With  harnessed  steeds  and  squires  to  back ; 

And  these  with  proud  and  knightly  stoop 
Made  their  obeisance  to  the  fair 
Whose  beauty  they  defended  there. 

Then  swelled  the  other  herald's  cry  : — 
11 '  The  Knights  of  the  Burning  Mount'  defy, 
And,  in  support  of  their  ladies'  charms, 
Challenge  all  chivalry  to  arms  !" 

But  how  looked  Esther  on  the  scene  ? 

Was  there  no  pleasure  in  the  place, 

To  call  the  color  to  her  face  ? 
A  weary  sadness  veiled  her  mien ; 
Her  eye,  which  took  the  splendor  in, 
Mid  all  the  show  no  joy  could  win ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  211 

For  in  her  patriotic  heart 

Another  picture,  far  apart, 

Rose,  with  its  drear,  contrasted  shade, 

Before  her  sympathetic  eye, 

Which  glistened  with  a  pitying  damp. 
She  saw  the  starving  valley  camp, 

And  heard  the  sufferer's  dying  sigh, — 
Saw  all  the  bitter  wants  that  weighed — 

Her  country's  only  hope  and  trust — • 

A  noble  army  to  the  dust ; 
And  even  when  her  champion  proud 

Bent  low,  a  gallant  knight  in  black, 
She  scarcely  noticed  that  he  bowed ; 

Her  sad  eye  paid  no  glances  back. 

Again  the  flying  bugle's  flash 

Across  the  waiting  scene  was  pealed ; 

Then  came  the  sudden  shock  and  dash 

Of  spears  that  met  in  splintering  crash 
On  every  loudly-ringing  shield. 

Then  sword  with  sword  together  rang 

With  many  a  fierce  and  fiery  clang, 
As  on  some  earnest  battle-field. 

Oh  for  the  pen  which  brave  Froissart 
Waved,  sword-like,  in  the  knightly  van ! 


212  THE   WAGONER  OF 

Oh  for  the  pencil  and  the  art 

Of  battle-loving  Wouverman ! 
That  on  my  page  might  be  unrolled 
Another  tourney  "  cloth  of  gold"  ! 

All  eyes  were  on  the  struggle  bent, 

And  every  gazer  forward  leant, 

Each  breathless  at  the  whirling  sight, — • 

When  dashed  in  midst  another  knight, 

Driving  the  raging  foes  between, 

And,  like  a  whirlwind,  joined  the  scene. 

His  tall  and  foaming  steed  was  black, 

And  reared  and  leapt  with  plunge  and  wheel ; 

And  he  who  loomed  upon  his  back 
Wore  on  his  breast  a  plate  of  steel, 

While  on  his  head  a  helmet  shone 

With  flying  plume, — the  visor  down. 

The  armor  was  embossed  and  rich, 
And  seemed  to  Esther  to  recall 

The  helmet  and  the  breastplate  which 

Formed  part  of  that  within  the  niche, — 
The  ancestral  suit  of  Berkley  Hall ; 
As  if  the  knight,  so  grim  and  tall, 
Finding  the  ancient  form  too  small, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  213. 

Content  to  shield  his  head  and  breast, 
Had  borrowed  but  cuirass  and  crest. 

His  raining  blows  were  swift  and  bold : 

No  sooner  was  his  weapon  set 

'Gainst  every  lifted  blade  he  met, 
Than  flew  that  blade  from  out  its  hold ; 
While  many  a  bravest  knight,  alarmed, 
Eecoiled  apace,  abashed,  disarmed. 

But  when  he  met  the  searched-for  foe, 
Fair  Esther's  champion  in  the  list, 
His  mighty  hand  could  not  resist, — 

He  dealt  an  angry,  giant's  blow, — 

Perchance  it  was  intended  so ; 

Somehow,  the  awkward  weapon  missed, — 
It  glanced  beyond  the  approaching  head, 
And  on  the  "black  knight's"  mouth  instead 

Alit  the  great  hilt-clenching  fist ! 

A  blow  that  made  the  earth  swim  round, 

And  sent  him  bleeding  to  the  ground. 

Then,  while  the  murmur  questioned  loud, 
He  dashed  to  the  wondering  maid  and  bowed, 
And  raised  her  white  glove  to  his  lip. 
Now  seemed  her  eye  to  understand ; 


214  THE  WAGONER  OF 

She  guessed  that  form  of  high  command, 
And  felt  a  folded  paper  slip 

Stealthily  into  her  startled  hand ; 
Then,  like  an  eagle  on  flashing  wing, 
He  sailed  beyond  the  wondering  ring. 

All  marvelled ;  but  few  guessed  the  truth : 
They  mostly  thought  it  in  the  play ; 

And  even  the  knights,  with  frowns  uncouth, 

And  many  a  savage  inward  oath, 

Were  pleased  among  themselves  to  say 

That  some  hot-headed  frolic  youth 
Had  chosen  thus  to  share  the  day, 
By  dashing  in  the  jousting  fray, 
To  bear  the  highest  prize  away, 
And  leave  them  all  in  wondering  doubt, 
As  oft  in  ancient  tourney -bout. 

The  two  commanders,  looking  on, 

Approved  the  novel  action  done, 

And  said,  in  accents  loud  and  bluff, 
The  brave  surprise  was  well  performed, 
And  that  it  was  a  knightly  thing, 

Although,  perchance,  a  little  rough. 
And  catching  this,  as  from  a  king, 
The  shout  of  joy  ran  round  the  ring, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  215 

Till  every  clapping  hand  was  warmed, 

To  send  the  applause  on  circling  wing. 
And  now  the  day  was  wellnigh  spent, 
And  evening  closed  the  tournament. 


216  THE  WAGONER  OP 


III. 


THE    BANQUET. 

OH,  merry  and  good  is  a  blooming  wood 

On  a  calm,  clear  afternoon, 
When  every  maid,  in  a  flowery  hood, 
Sings,  as  every  maiden  should 

In  the  leafy  shades  of  June : — 
When  every  light  form  wears  the  proof 
Of  what  beneath  her  homestead  roof 

The  loom  of  Winter  weaves, — 
The  blue,  and  green,  and  scarlet  woof, 

The  white  and  flowing  sleeves : — 
When  every  archer  bends  his  bow, 
To  bid  the  laughing  arrow  go 

Among  the  laughing  leaves  I 

And  merry  the  call  to  a  Christmas  hall, 
Where  nuts  and  ale  abound, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  217 

Where  music,  with  gusty  rise  and  fall, 
Chases  the  revellers  dancing  all 
In  many  a  mazy  round. 

But  louder,  clearer,  merrier  yet 
The  music  and  mirth  together  met 
What  time  the  evening  feast  was  set 

And  the  tournament  was  through : 
The  knights  came  in,  each  waving  plume 
Sending  a  murmur  through  the  room, 
And,  bowing  to  eyes  they  deemed  most  sweet, 
Each  knelt  before  his  lady's  feet, 

To  receive  the  trophy  due. 

But  where  was  Esther's  champion  ? 
Had  he  no  tourney -honor  won? 

And  must  the  flower  her  turban  wore 
Remain  unclaimed,  and  feel  the  blight 
Of  all  that  withering  festal  light? 
She  plucked  the  rose  with  fingers  white, 
And  tore  the  leaves  before  their  sight 

And  strewed  them  on  the  floor. 

That  feasting-hall  was  a  sight  to  see, 
And,  seen,  it  must  remembered  be : 

19 


218  THE  WAGONER  OF 

A  hundred  banners  lined  the  wall, 
Festooning  over  .swords  and  spears, 
And  thrice  a  score  of  chandeliers 

Made  such  a  glory  through  the  hall 
As  only  summer  noonday  wears ; 

And  many  a  mirror,  wide  and  tall, 
Decked  with  flowers  on  golden  piers, 

Caught  the  splendor,  and  echoed  it  all, 

As  if  to  stretch  the  gorgeous  place 

Into  the  outer  halls  of  space, 

As  it  were  to  last  a  thousand  years. 

All,  all  was  bright  as  summer  waves 

That  sing  and  dance  on  a  flowery  shore, 
Where  the  billow  decks  the  bank  it  laves 

With  pearls,  and  then  retreats  for  more. 

The  only  shadows  around  the  feast 
Were  a  score  of  turbaned,  Nubian  slaves 

Arrayed  in  livery  of  the  East. 

The  merriest  sounds  o'erflowed  the  scene, 
While  flashed  the  brimming  wine  between, 
Where  each,  from  the  cup  he  loved  to  quaff, 
Caught  something  of  its  vineyard  laugh. 


THE   ALLEGKEANIES.  219 

There  was  whispered  love,  soft  words  of  bliss 
On  lips  Adonis  would  die  to  kiss, 

Rustle  of  silks,  and  rattle  of  fans, 
Tinkling  of  glasses,  and,  crowning  this, 

Music  that  swelled  from  invisible  clans : — • 
Till,  closing  his  eyes,  the  listener  heard 

The  rush  of  a  woodland  waterfall, 
And  all  the  leaves  of  the  forest  stirred 

By  a  flutter  of  wings,  and  the  noisy  call 
Of  every  loudest-throated  bird. 

The  feast  was  past,  the  toast  was  said, 
The  inevitable  speeches  made, 
And  the  long-cheered,  triumphant  two 
Breathed  easier,  and  drank  anew. 

'Twas  now  that  one  of  the  leading  knights 
Bowed,  and,  with  soft  persuasion  long, 

Prayed,  as  a  wreath  to  their  delights, 

Our  maid  would  crown  the  hour  with  song. 

In  vain  her  timid  lips  demurred  : 

The  praise  of  her  voice  so  much  was  heard, 

They  would  not  take  the  denying  word. 

In  view  of  this,  a  harp  had  been, 

Only  a  moment  past,  brought  in. 


220.  THE  WAGONER  OF 

And  there  in  a  flood  of  light  it  shone 
Golden  on  its  waiting  throne. 

At  length,  upon  her  father's  arm, 

And  bidding  her  page  beside  her  stay, 
She  went,  though  tremorous  with  alarm, 

And  Andr6,  bowing,  led  the  way. 

She  gained  the  throne,  and  sat  thereon : 

Her  breath  came  short  for  such  a  need ; 
One  glance  across  the  room  she  sent, 
A  thousand  eyes  were  on  her  bent ; 

They  seemed  a  thousand  arrows  drawn, 
And  she  the  victim  that  must  bleed. 

One  long  sustaining  breath  she  drew, 
Her  drooping  lids  shut  out  the  view,— 
Till,  suddenly  dashing  her  veil  aside, 
And  flinging  her  golden  ringlets  wide, 
Her  arms  around  the  harp  she  pressed, 
Loving  it  with  her  loving  breast, 

As  if  its  touch  her  fears  might  smother. 
And  now  her  hands  along  the  strings 

Flashed  daringly  across  each  other, 
As  when  two  birds,  at  dividing  wires, 
Outsinging  all  the  woodland  choirs, 
Flutter  with  half-invisible  wings. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  221 

When  climbed  her  fingers  high  and  higher, 
Twinkling  among  the  treble  notes 
There  seemed  unnumbered  silver  throats, 

Thrilling  the  sky  with  wild  desire ; 

Then  sudden  lightnings  flashed  their  fire, 

Till,  in  the  heavier  chords  below, 

The  thunder  dealt  its  rumbling  blow  ; 

And  now  the  rain  was  shivered  down, 

And  all  the  tempest-bugles  blown. 

Then  came  her  voice :  at  first  'twas  low, 
Like  a  sweet  brook  among  the  rushes ; 

But,  like  that  brook,  its  further  flow 
Swelled  soon  to  fuller,  nobler  gushes. 

SONG. 
I. 

In  the  vanished  time  and  olden, 
Ere  the  ages  yet  were  golden, 
A  great  king  ruled  his  misty  isles 

In  sullen  state  alone, 
Till,  hearing  of  a  maiden 
"With  marvellous  beauty  laden, 
He  swore  she  must  be  brought  to  him 
To  tend  beside  his  throne. 

19* 


THE   WAGONER   OF 


II. 

And  forthwith  every  vassal 
Who  dwelt  beside  his  castle 
Was  sent  to  bring  the  maiden  in 
Before  the  morrow  morn ; 
And  straightway  to  her  bower 
They  went  in  all  their  power : 
But  she  met  them  with  her  noble  mien 

And  scorned  them  with  her  scorn. 

in. 

"  Go,  tell  your  tyrant  master 
Earth  threatens  no  disaster 
So  direful  to  a  maiden's  soul 

As  is  a  monarch's  smile  ; 
That  Death  shall  wed  me  rather 
'Neath  the  roof-tree  of  my  father, 
Than  I  should  serve  the  greatest  king 
That  ever  ruled  an  isle." 

IV. 

Then  laughed  they  loud  derision 
At  the  poor  defenceless  vision 
Of  a  simple  maid  who  dared  alone 
Defy  their  mighty  king ; 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  223 

"  Then  come,"  they  cried,  "  the  trial ; 
Our  lord  brooks  no'  denial : 
Your  slender  wrists  must  bear  the  bands 
Our  master  bade  us  bring." 


V. 

But,  firm  in  her  reliance, 
With  a  glance  of  fierce  defiance 
She  looked  into  their  cowering  eyes, 
That  drooped  as  in  disgrace ! 
But,  remembering  royal  anger, 
With  a  sudden  clash  and  clangor 
They  drew  their  mighty  falchions  forth 
And  flashed  them  in  her  face. 


VI. 

A  moment,  as  in  sadness, 
She  looked  upon  their  madness, 
With  calm,  white  arms  serenely  there 

Upon  her  bosom  laid  ; 
Then,  with  no  thrill  of  terror, 
But  smiling  at  their  error, 
Three  times  she  clapped  her  snowy  hands, 
And  signalled  thus  for  aid. 


224  THE  WAGONER  OF 


VII. 

Three  times  her  palms  resounded, 
And  at  once  she  stood  surrounded 
By  noble  brothers  rushing  in 

From  every  native  field : 
Their  forms  were  rough  and  tawny, 
But  their  limbs  were  lithe  and  brawny, 
And,  instead  of  taking  captors  there, 
The  captors  now  must  yield. 


VIII. 

And,  against  their  own  consenting, 
She  sent  them  back  repenting. 
The  mad  king  cropt  their  coward  ears 

To  satisfy  his  wrath : 
And  still  that  noble  maiden, 
With  all  her  beauty  laden, 
"Went  singing  on  her  happy  way, 
With  honor  in  her  path. 


Scarce  had  the  last  word  left  her  tongue, 
And  while  the  chord  still  trembling  hung 
From  which  the  bird-like  note  had  sprung, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  225. 

There  rose  a  tumult  wild  without,(11) 
A  hurried  rush  of  loud  alarms, 

The  flash  of  flames,  the  sentinel's  shout, 
With  startled  drums  that  beat  to  arms. 

The  shuddering  guests  no  more  could  doubt, 

But  quaked  to  think  the  rebel  crew- 
Had  burst  in  all  their  midnight  power 
Upon  them,  in  their  revel  hour, 

To  act  the  Trenton  scene  anew. 

What  meant  that  glow  whose  fearful  shine 
Illumined  the  abatis-line, 
Which  fired  the  scene,  as  if  to  light 
The. horrors  of  the  coming  fight? 

Now  could  they  hear  the  mounted  troop 
Like  hungry  vultures  round  them  swoop, 
And  see  the  clattering  hoofs  of  steel 
Where  lightning  flashed  from  every  heel. 

Out  rushed  the  guardian  ranks  aflame, 
To  put  the  intruding  crew  to  shame  ; 
But,  strange  to  tell,  without  a  blow, 
To  say  that  there  had  been  the  foe, 
The  -troopers  fled,  and  left  behind 
Their  mocking  laughter  on  the  wind. 


THE   WAGONER   OF 


The  guards  pursued  them  past  the  town, 
By  the  same  road  which  brought  them  down, 
And  soon  the  sentinels  descried 
The  line  returning,  flushed  with  pride. 

Then  laughter  filled  the  hall  again, 
While  pleasure  took  the  place  of  pain, 
And  every  happy  face  was  lit 
With  this  fresh  source  of  mirth  and  wit, 
And  music  spread  its  circling  wing 
To  lead  the  dance  in  ampler  swing. 

But  what  was  wrong  ?     What  ailed  Sir  Hugh  ? 

Why  sought  he  thus  the  assembly  through  ? 

What  were  the  questions  he  would  pour 

At  every  outward-leading  door? 

At  last  he  stood,  with  sigh  long  drawn, — 

Both  Ugo  and  the  maid  were  gone. 

One  said  that  while  the  guardian  troop 
Had  gone  to  beat  the  rebels  back, 

He  saw  descend  a  hasty  group 

Across  the  lawn,  and  some  were  black, — 

A  part  of  that  same  turbaned  horde 

"\Y"ho  tended  while  the  wine  was  poured,— 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  227 

And  that  they  moved  towards  a  bark : — 
To  shield  them,  then,  the  white  moon  bowed 
Behind  a  heavy  wall  of  cloud  : — 

He  saw  no  more,  for  all  was  dark. 


THE  WAGONEK  OF 


IV. 


THE    BROTHERS. 

WHAT  light  illumes  the  eagle's  ken, 

And  flames  his  breast  with  Freedom's  rage, 

The  first  wild  daring  instant  when 
He  soars  beyond  his  broken  cage ! 

How  glows  the  lion's  eye  of  fire, 
Brighter  than  lit  with  midnight  ire, 
The  moment  when  he  sees  the  bar 
Half  drawn  that  leaves  the  door  ajar ! 
How  proudly  he  exalts  his  mane 
That  first  hour  on  the  open  plain  ! 

When  from  the  winter's  captive  hold 

The  young  spring  takes  the  freedom  won, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  229 

While  all  his  fetters  crystal  cold 
Melt  like  a  vision  in  the  sun  : — 

Then  every  river,  brook,  and  rill 
Feels  its  deep  heart  with  pleasure  thrill ; 
Then  sing  the  birds,  and  every  tree 
Waves  its  gay  hands  for  jollity. 

What  joy,  my  own  dear  land,  was  thine, 
What  pleasure  filled  thy  breast  of  sorrow, 

As  if  the  heart  were  pulsing  wine, — • 

What  glorious  sunshine  filled  the  noon 

That  cloudless,  jubilant  day  in  June 

Which  said,  "  The  foe  will  leave  to-morrow  1" 

"  To-morrow  !"  every  glad  eye-glance 
To  that  sweet  music  seemed  to  dance : 
Youth  spread  the  shout  from  first  to  last, 

And  Age  new  vigor  seemed  to  borrow, 
And  stranger-faces,  as  they  passed, 

Looked  that  masonic  word,  "  To-morrow  1" 

The  happy  country  heard  afar 
The  answer  of  its  long  desires ; 

Swift  sped  the  news  from  hill  to  hill, 

O'er  plain  and  valley  wandering  still, 
20 


230  THE  WAGONER  OF 

As  if  on  every  mountain-bar 
Was  lit  the  flame  of  signal-fires. 

And  there  were  eyes  in  Berkley  Hall, 

That,  bright  before,  were  now  more  bright, 
Young  breasts  that  in  their  rise  and  fall 

Were  thrilled  with  uncontrolled  delight. 
Yet  there  beneath  the  Berkley  roof 
Were  looks  that  angered  at  the  proof, — 
Dark,  sullen  brows,  which  seemed  to  say 
The  morn  would  bring  a  hateful  day. 
'Twas  hard  to  see  the  old  reins  slip 
From  out  their  doting  monarch's  grip ; 
And  so,  to  nerve  them  for  the  worst, 

The  purple  flask  must  cheer  the  hour, 
That  they  at  least  might  slake  their  thirst 

For  wine,  if  not  for  tyrant  power. 

"  To-morrow,  Colonel,  you  depart :" 
This  was  the  greeting  of  Sir  Hugh. 

"  Believe  me  when  I  say  my  heart 
Is  sad  to  part  with  such  as  you. 

I  hoped  ere  this — but  hopes  are  vain : 
There  is  a  higher  Wisdom  rules : — 

Though  wise  his  ways,  they  are  not  plain : 
'Tis  strange,  and  yet  He  sometimes  deigns 


THE   ALLEGHANTES.  231 

To  give  an  empire's  guiding  reins 

Into  the  hardy  hands  of  fools  : — • 
I  hoped  ere  this — that  hope  at  least 

Holds  good,  and  shall  not  be  denied — • 
To  see  my  family-board  increased, 

To  see  my  daughter  at  your  side 

A  lovely  and  contented  bride. 

How  stands  your  glass  ?     The  room  is  dim : 

Methinks  the  twilight  settles  soon, 

In  spite  of  the  long  days  of  June ; 

And  yonder  rises  the  red  moon, 
As  if  wine  flushed  her  golden  brim. 
So  flush  your  glass ;  for  wine,  in  truth, 

Which  sparkles  in  these  founts  of  ours, 
Is  that  perpetual  Spring  of  Youth 
Which  Ponce  de  Leon  strove,  forsooth, 

To  find  within  the  land  of  flowers. 
Then  never  let  our  spirits  sink, 

Though  Time  and  Fate  their  worst  pursue, 
While  at  the  bacchanalian  brink 

Our  hearts  their  courage  may  renew. 

Ay,  courage, — 'tis  the  soldier's  word : 
The  hour  is  brighter  than  it  seems ; 


232  THE   WAGONER  OP 

To-day,  even  while  you  stood  deterred, 
I  caught  from  hope  some  clearer  gleams. 

Did  you  not  notice,  when  we  came, 

And  after  my  first  warm  embrace, 
How  flushed  her  cheek  and  eye  with  flame 

When  she  looked  up  and  saw  your  face  ? 
I  felt  her  little  wild  heart  leap, 

That  moment,  in  my  clasping  hand ; 
For  Love,  when  he  wo"uld  safely  keep 
His  head  in  secret  hiding  deep, 

Is  but  an  ostrich  in  the  sand. 

What  though  her  look  no  hope  awakes, 

Repelling  with  disdainful  eye, 
'Tis  but  the  course  the  salmon  takes, 
In  scornful  distance  pausing  shy ; 
Just  when  you  think  your  toil  is  vain, 
And  when  he  chiefly  shows  disdain, 

With  sudden  whirl  he  takes  the  fly  ! 
What  though  her  mien  conceals  the  spell, 
Believe  me,  friend,  she  loves  you  well. 

Who  spoke  ?     Who  dared  to  give  the  lie  ? 
Ho,  Steward  !  lights  !" 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  233 

The  lights  were  brought, 
And  every  secret  hiding-place 
Was  peered  into  with  angry  face. 

The  furious  searching  furnished  naught 
To  meet  his  pistol's  ready  rage, 
Except  a  parrot  in  his  cage  : 
Yes,  surely  'twas  that  silly  bird 
Who  uttered  the  obnoxious  word. 
They  laughed,  and  sat :  the  wine  must  serve 
To  smooth  again  the  ruffled  nerve. 

"  To  prove,  my  friend,  my  words  sincere, 
I  have  the  paper  ready  here." 
Thus  spake  Sir  Hugh.     "  It  only  waits 
For  the  contracting  names  and  dates : 
'Tis  quickly  done.     There,  mine  secures 
The  seal ;  and  now,  my  friend,  for  yours. 
By  Jove !  your  pen  flies  o'er  the  word 
With  all  the  flourish  of  a  sword ! 

The  maiden's  name  ?     Ah,  never  doubt : 
That  with  the  rest  shall  soon  appear. 

Ho,  Steward,  seek  your  mistress  out 
And  bid  her  to  attend  me  here !" 

20* 


234  THE   WAGONER   OF 

In  Berkley's  breast  resolve  was  stern, 
For  in  his  proud  parental  heart, 
Remembering  with  what  willing  art 
Her  favor  took  the  patriots'  part, 

He  felt  a  deep  resentment  burn. 
Although  he  loved  her  fondly  still, 

Yet,  though  all  else  should  be  denied, 
She  should  not  set  her  rebel  will 

Against  this  last  hope  of  his  pride  : 

It  may  be  that  the  flush  of  wine 

Gave  vigor  to  his  fixed  design. 

Young  Esther  came :  her  eye  was  bright 

As  if  'twere  brimmed  with  love's  own  light ; 

Then  flowed  her  maiden  accents  clear, 

"  What  would  you,  father?     I  am  here." 

"  A  trifling  service,"  he  replied  ; — 
There  was  a  strangeness  in  the  tone 
Which  turned  her  inmost  heart  to  stone : — 
11  Before  these  written  names  are  dried, 
Let  yours  be  drying  at  their  side." 

With  wondering  countenance  advanced, 
Her  eye  across  the  paper  glanced  ; 
Her  visage  showed  a  lightning-blight, — • 
The  color  from  her  cheek  was  blown, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  235 

As  when  from  off  some  festal  height 
The  fierce  bolt  strikes  the  banner  down. 

Before  her  flashed  the  ready  quill, 
The  black  blood  waiting  at  the  point ; 

Across  her  swept  a  deathly  chill 
That  agued  every  sinking  joint : 

A  very  statue,  mute  and  white, 

She  stood,  till  came  the  order,  "  Write !" 

"  Nay,  father :  any  thing  but  this, — 
If  'twere  to  die  at  your  command !" 

He  answered,  "  My  sole  order  is 

To  write  !     The  pen  is  in  your  hand  !" 

'Twas  there ;  for  he  had  placed  it  there, — • 
He  seized  her  by  the  slender  wrist. — 
"  Oh,  help  !"  she  cried. 

"  Nay,  to  assist 

In  your  rebellion  who  shall  dare?" 

He  answered  firmly,  at  the  word, 

Tapping  his  pistol  and  his  sword. 

Her  hand  was  on  the  paper  prest : 

Both  watched  it  with  their  anxious  ken ; 


236  THE   WAGONER   OF 

The  blood  was  curdling  in  her  breast, 

A  deadly  pallor  veiled  her  mien, 
The  room  swam  round  in  darkness, — when 

An  iron  hand  was  thrust  between, 
Which  snatched  and  crushed  the  crackling  pen  ! 

Three  paces  back,  with  shuddering  reel, 
All  started,  in  their  horror  dumb ; 
Their  tongues  even  as  their  hearts  were  numb ; 

For  there  a  voiceless  form  of  steel 

Stood  glowering  as  with  threatening  will ; 

For,  though  the  visor  close  was  down, 

The  very  iron  seemed  to  frown, 

The  clenching  gauntlet  grasping  still 

The  crumpled  remnant  of  the  quill. 

Within  the  waning  light  and  gloom 

To  giant  size  it  seemed  to  loom : 

Such  necromantic  power  has  fright 

To  give  to  objects  double  height. 

While  now  the  gazers  stood  aghast, 

The  form,  with  slow  and  backward  pace, 
Confronting  still  with  iron  face, 

Eetiring,  reached  the  throne  at  last 

Where  stood  the  maiden's  harp  of  gold. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  237 

Still  paler  grew  the  lights  and  dim, — 

Or  so  the  frighted  fancy  told, — 
While  phantom  lustre  seemed  to  swim 
About  that  form  so  ghostly  grim ; 
And,  just  behind,  the  moon's  broad  rim 

Seemed  to  the  very  casement  rolled, 
A  spectral  chariot  waiting  him : 

The  gazers'  blood  ran  doubly  cold 
And  palsied  every  limb. 

But  stranger  still  it  was  to  see 
'The  form  slow  sinking  on  one  knee, 

Upon  the  harp's  enthroning  stand, 
While  in  his  stretching  arms  lie  took 
The  frame,  whose  chords  in  terror  shook 

Ere  scarce  they  felt  the  iron  hand. 

Slow  o'er  the  strings  the  gauntlets  stole : — 
(That  gloves  of  steel  showed  little  skill 
In  answering  to  the  player's  will, 
Such  audience  would  scarcely  wonder ;) — • 

But,  with  a  strange,  weird  music  still, 
That  wailed  above,  then  rumbled  under, 
He  played  as  'twere  a  funeral  dole 

Chanted  by  distant  winds  and  thunder ; 


238  THE   WAGONER   OP 

And  when  from  out  the  helmet  broke 
The  words  in  many  a  dying  close, 

It  seemed  as  if  a  cavern  spoke 
The  burden  of  long-hidden  woes. 


SONG. 

I. 

A  shade  has  crossed  the  hill,  Sir  Hugh, 

A  shade  has  crossed  the  lawn ; 
And  where  its  phantom  feet  have  gone, 
So  lightly  were  they  pressed  thereon, 
They  did  not  brush  the  evening  dew, 

Sir  Hugh, 
They  did  not  brush  the  dew. 


II. 

A  gloom  is  on  your  house,  Sir  Hugh, 

Your  sire  frowns  on  the  wall, — 
Where  frown  tliose  painted  shadows  all, 
Now  pale  and  shuddering  o'er  your  fall: 
The  last  of  all  the  name  are  you, 

Sir  Hugh, 
The  last  of  all  are  you. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  239 


III. 
Your  royal  cause  is  lost,  Sir  Hugh ; 

Your  king  recoils  aghast ; 
His  day  of  tyrant  power  is  past : 
Of  all  his  friends  you  are  the  last, 
Last  of  your  cause  and  name  are  you, 

Sir  Hugh, 
The  last  of  all  are  you. 

IV. 
The  last  of  all  are  you,  Sir  Hugh, 

Echoes  the  owl  aloof, — • 
The  last  of  all, — upon  the  roof 
The  whippoorwill  prolongs  the  proof :- 
Adieu  to  Berkley  Hall, — adieu, 

Sir  Hugh, 
To  Berkley  Hall  adieu. 


"  Behold !  Sir  Hugh,  be  not  dismayed  1" 
The  suitor  cried,  and  drew  his  blade. 
"Do  you  not  see  it  is  the  same 
Who  boldly  to  our  tourney  came 
A  rough,  unbidden  guest  and  foe? 
I  have  not  yet  forgiven  the  blow : 


240  THE   WAGONER  OF 

Though  it  were  years,  in  twice  the  gloom 
I  still  would  know  that  helm  and  plume." 

Through  Berkley's  brain  the  lightning  sped, 

And,  casting  round  his  glances  quick, 
Sir  Hugh  the  empty  niche  espied ; 
Then,  with  an  angry  laugh,  he  cried, 

"  A  trick  I     By  Heaven  !  a  rebel  trick !" 
And  scarcely  had  the  words  been  said, 

The  room  was  blinded  with  a  flash : 
The  iron  vision  forward  sprung, 
And  reeled  the  frighted  group  among ; 

And  now  the  floor  received  the  crash 
Of  one  who  falls  in  armor  dead. 

Alas !  if  there  was  aught  within 
But  ghost,  to  brave  that  bolt  of  lead, 

That  shining  breastplate  was  too  thin ! 

The  door,  by  sudden  fury  thrust, 

Swung  wide,  and  hurrying  men  strode  in, 

And  one,  whose  voice  was  like  a  gust, 

Cried,  "Wherefore  all  this  murderous  din?" 

Then,  following  Sir  Hugh's  wild  stare, 

He  saw  the  fallen  armor  there, 

And  saw  from  out  the  iron  seam 

A  mortal  tide  of  crimson  stream. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  24. 

With  hurried  stride  he  crossed  the  floor, 

And  knelt  beside  the  pool  of  gore, 
With  rapid  hand  the  visor  threw, 
And  started  backward  at  the  view : 

One  look  told  all, — no  need  of  more : — - 
From  out  its  sheath  his  weapon  flew. 

"  Behold,"  he  cried,  "  0  wretch,  behold 

The  murderous  work  your  hand  has  done ! 
Ay,  stare  upon  that  visage  cold, 

And  recognize,  mad  fool,  your  son ! 
But,  while  there's  strength  within  this  hand 
And  steel  of  vengeance  in  this  brand, 
Your  heart  shall  pour  a  stream  as  good, 
Even  though  I  shed  a  brother's  blood !" 

That  moment  he  had  forward  sprung, 

But  Esther  on  his  right  arm  flung 

Her  form,  and  there  she  pleading  clung. 

Then  stood  Sir  Hugh  as  one  who  seems 
Chained  amid  horrid  nightmare- dreams ; 
Though  fain  to  fly  the  sight  of  gore, 
His  feet  were  frozen  to  the  floor. 
21 


242  THE   WAGONER  OF 

At  length  lie  stammered,  still  with  stare 
Fixed  on  the  pallid  visage  there, 
"  A  lie ! — a  lie !     I  had  no  son, 
And  surely  never  such  a  one  1" 

To  which  the  other  cried  again, 

"  Thy  son,  proud  fool,  and  son  of  her 

Whose  noble  heart  by  you  was  slain, — 
0  cold  and  double  murderer !" 

Still  staring  with  unmoving  eye, 

He  said, — or  rather  seemed  to  sigh, — • 

11 1  never  killed  her :  if  she  died, 

It  was  not  here " 

"  Your  bitter  pride 
Struck  at  her  heart,  until  her  brain 
By  many  a  cold,  proud  word  was  slain  1" 
The  wagoner  answered ;  and  the  taunt 
At  last  awoke  the  Berkley  blood. 

"  Who  dares,"  he  cried,  in  furious  mood, 
"  Thus  in  my  face  such  words  to  flaunt  ? 
And  who  art  thou,  who  ne'er  before 

Save  once,  a  rude,  unwelcome  guest, 
Was  known  to  enter  at  my  door  ? 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  243 

What  rebel  thou,  whose  coward  breast 
Dares  breathe  the  insult  uttered  now !" 

"  Pray,  not  so  fast,"  the  other  cried. 

"  A  moment  clear  your  clouded  brow, 

And  let  your  memory  allow 
I  am  not  one  to  be  defied ! 
That  picture  there  may  well  attest 
Whose  courage  ever  was  the  best, 
And  which  it  was  who  quaked  with  fear 
The  moment  danger  came  too  near. 
I  scorned  you  even  as  a  child, 

Proud,  cold,  and  selfish  as  you  were ; 
A  younger  brother,  oft  reviled, 

I  would  not  be  your  pensioner, 
And  so  I  left  you  to  yourself, 
With  all  your  boasted  pride  and  pelf. 

"  A  rebel ! — nay,  let  that  foul  name 

Flush  your  own  coward  cheek  with  shame : 

'Tis  ye  are  black  Rebellion's  knaves, 

Traitors  to  Freedom  and  to  God, 

Who  dare  upon  this  sacred  sod 

Exalt  the  slave-compelling  rod, 
Being  slaves  yourselves,  to  make  us  slaves ! 


244  THE   WAGONER   OF 

While  throbs  a  heart, — while  Heaven  is  just, — 

"While  on  the  banner  of  our  trust 
One  star  remains  to  fight  beneath, 
No  blade  of  ours  shall  seek  its  sheath, 
No  cannon  hold  its  direful  breath, 
Till  on  the  bitter  field  of  death 

The  bold  enslaver  bites  the  dust. 

Already,  even  as  pictured  there, 
The  joy  has  oft  been  mine  to  take 
In  this  good  grasp  the  tyrant  snake 

And  fling  him  writhing  in  despair." 

11  My  brother,  thou?"  Sir  Hugh  replied, 
The  while  the  wagoner's  form  he  eyed, 
Scanning  in  scorn,  from  head  to  foot, 
The  patriot's  rough  and  rustic  suit. 
"  'Tis  false  !     No  Berkley  scion  yet 
His  high-born  lineage  could  forget, 

To  wear  such  rude  and  menial  form 

And  be  the  thing  which  thou  art  now  !" — 
He  spake,  and  back  recoiled  a  pace 
Before  the  anger  of  that  face  : 

He  dared  no  further  brook  the  storm 

Which  gathered  on  that  threatening  brow. 
But  now  his  troubled  eye  again 
Was  cast  upon  the  stripling  slain, 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  245 

And,  with,  a  look  which,  strove  in  vain 

To  hide  the  doubt  within  his  brain, 

He  cried,  "  Tis  false !     No  blood  of  mine 

E'er  wandered  vagrant  through  the  land; 

No  Berkley  son  would  raise  a  hand 
In  honor  of  the  rebel  line  ! 

No  child  of  mine " 

His  speech  was  stayed ; 
He  glared  upon  the  trembling  maid. 
"  Well  mayst  thou  tremble  !"  he  resumed, 
"  And  sink  with  burning  shame  consumed, 
Whose  recreant  heart  and  rebel  eye 
Now  give  our  loyal  blood  the  lie  ! 
'Tis  thou,  with  disobedience  long, 

This  sad  and  direful  scene  hast  wrought, — 

Firing  the  youth  with  rebel  thought 
And  filling  his  soul  with  rebel  song ; 
But  that  shall  end !"     And,  at  the  word, 
Across  the  harp  he  flashed  his  sword 
And  severed  every  trembling  chord. 

"  Strike  on  !" — this  was  the  wagoner's  taunt  :-— 
"  Such  courage  ever  was  your  vaunt : 
With  no  more  stripling  sons  to  kill, 

On  other  innocents  wreak  your  fill !" 
21* 


246  THE   WAGONER   OF 

"  Still  must  I  hear?"  Sir  Hugh  replied, 
"  Are  my  assertions  all  denied? 
The  boy  was  never  son  of  mine, 

Though  harbored  long  beneath  my  roof: 
In  shades  condemned,  or  realms  divine, 
That  truant  woman's  wandering  ghost 
No  Berkley  offspring  dares  to  boast : — 

I  challenge  every  proof!" 

The  wagoner  turned,  and  whispered,  "  Hark  ! 
What  newer  misery  thrills  the  dark? 
What  voice  is  that  approaching  near  ? 
Sir  Hugh  ! — Sir  Hugh  ! — look  up  and  hear  I" 

Thus  as  he  spoke,  a  mournful  air 
Seemed  winding  down  the  shadowy  stair, 
Still  nearing  and  more  near ;  and  soon 
The  words  came  clearly  with  the  tune. 


SONG. 

I. 
Oh,  cold  was  the  bridegroom, 

All  frozen  with  pride : 
He  first  slew  her  lover, 

Then  made  her  his  bride. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  247 


II. 
Beneath  a  green  willow, 

And  under  a  stone, 
They  buried  her  lover, 

And  left  her  alone. 

XXL 

"With  naught  but  the  bridegroom's 
Proud  breast  for  her  head, 

Oh,  how  could  she  live  when 
Her  lover  was  dead  ? 

IV. 

Her  body  they  buried 
Beside  the  church-wall ; 

Her  ghost  with  the  bridegroom 
Sat  up  in  the  hall : — 

v. 
Sat  up  at  his  table, 

Lay  down  in  his  bed : — 
Oh,  cold  was  the  bridegroom, — 

But  colder  the  dead ! 


243  THE   WAGONER  OF 

The  singer  entered.     Was  it  a  ghost, 

Or  sleeper  walking  unaware  ? 
Her  large  eyes,  as  in  revery  lost, 
Bent  forward  their  unearthly  stare ; 
Wild  o'er  her  shoulders  fell  her  hair ; 
Her  face  was  like  her  garments  white ; 
Her  thin  hands  bore  a  wavering  light, 
Which  shed  a  pale  and  mournful  glare 
Across  those  features  of  despair. 

Still  forward  walked  that  form  of  awe, 
As  if  her  wide  eyes  nothing  saw, 
Until,  in  middle  of  the  room, 
The  centre  of  that  scene  of  gloom, 
She  cast  a  slow,  dull  glance  around, 
And  looked  as  she  had  nothing  found : 
Across  their  very  faces  past 

Those  eyes  to  which  all  seemed  a  blank, 
Till  on  the  floor  her  glance  was  cast ; 
And  there,  as  that  look  was  her  last, 
She  gazed  upon  those  features  white ; 
From  out  her  fingers  dropt  the  light, 

And  on  the  armored  breast  she  sank. 

It  needed  but  that  last  wild  gust 
Of  grief  to  blow  from  Nora's  frame 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  249 

Life's  low,  unsteady,  flickering  flame, 
And  leave  it  dark  and  soulless  dust. 

"  Sir  Hugh  ! — Sir  Hugh  !"     He  was  not  there: 
Sir  Hugh  was  gone,  they  knew  not  where. 

But  there  the  haughty  suitor  stood, 

His  bright  sword  flashing  in  his  hand, 

As  if  the  keen,  defying  brand 
His  nuptial  claim  should  still  make  good. 
This  saw  the  wagoner,  as  he  laid 
On  Edgar's  arm  the  fainting  maid ; 
And,  ere  the  soldier  was  aware, 
He  stood  without  a  weapon  there : 
His  sword  was  in  the  patriot's  hold, 

Who  with  a  look  of  scorn  surveyed 
The  face  so  lately  flushed  and  bold ; 
Then,  with  contemptuous  movement  fleet, 

Across  his  knee  he  snapped  the  blade, 
And  flung  it  at  the  wearer's  feet, 

And  now,  the  wide  door  pointing  through, 
Exclaimed,  with  sad  but  threatening  brow, 
"  Depart  1     The  place  is  sacred  now  : 

Go,  follow  thou  Sir  Hugh !" 


250  THE   WAGONER   OF 


CONCLUSION. 

MY  friend  abruptly  closed  the  book : 

I  felt  as  one  who  long  had  sailed 
Gazing  with  anxious  landward  look, — 

Who,  just  as  the  fair  port  is  hailed, 
And  the  rough  prow  goes  dipping  in, 
Suddenly  hears  the  anchor's  din, 
And,  lo !  the  ship  is  at  full  stand : 
There  move  the  people  on  the  land, 
And  there  are  voices  from  the  beach, 
But  mournfully  all  out  of  reach. 

My  face  the  crowding  questions  wore : 
He  said,  "A  little  patience  yet, 

And  soon  the  landing  skiff  and  oar 
Your  feet  upon  the  shore  shall  set." 

Then  at  the  sinking  fire  his  hands 

Gathered  and  piled  the  sundered  brands, 


THE  ALLEG-HANIES.  251 

Until  the  hearth  was  re-illumed : — 

"  'Tis  thus,"  he  said,  "  the  story  stands  : — 
A  fallen  end  or  two  demands 

To  be  regathered  and  consumed. 

How  goes  the  wine  ?     'Tis  rare  and  old : 
Or  do  you  taste  the  earthy  mould  ? 
Some  seasons  past,  while  men  of  mine 

Were  hollowing  out  an  ample  space 

To  give  our  hothouse-wall  its  base, 

I  stood  to  watch  them  bravely  delve 
And  see  they  followed  well  the  line, 

When  suddenly  to  its  very  helve 
The  pick  went  in  with  crush  and  crash, 
Spattering  all  with  a  purple  splash ; 
And  when  withdrawn — oh,  murderous  sign ! — 
'Twas  bathed  in  the  streaming  blood  of  wine. 
How  it  came  there  to  you  is  plain, 
And  this  brings  up  Sir  Hugh  again. 
'Tis  said  that  on  that  night  of  pain 
He  rushed  into  the  moonlit  air, 
And  sped  for  hours  he  knew  not  where, 
Through  fields  and  woods,  by  the  river's  brim, 
With  two  sad  phantoms  following  him ; — 
How  once,  just  as  he  thought  he  saw 
The  crowning  horror  of  his  awe, 


252  THE   WAGONER   OF 

The  murdered  stripling  in  his  path 
Rise  with  confronting  eyes  of  wrath, 
He' reeled  and  staggered,  fainted,  fell, 
And  lay  at  the  feet  of  a  sentinel ; 
And  when  he  awoke,  and  the  horrid  mists 
From  off  his  aching  brow  were  blown, 
He  found  himself  within  the  town, 
Among  the  guards  of  the  royalists. 

He  recognized  the  hand  of  Fate ; 

And,  after  writing  a  hurried  scrawl, 

Giving  his  daughter  Berkley  Hall(12) 
And  his  blessing  with  the  broad  estate, 
He  boarded  a  ship,  and  felt  more  free 

While  bidding  adieu  to  river  and  bay ; 

But  his  heart  was  withering  day  by  day, 
And  at  last  they  buried  him  far  at  sea. 

The  lovers?     Ah,  more  sweet  the  lay 
Should  be  which  sings  of  those  so  dear : 

It  is  not  long  since,  old  and  gray, 

My  sainted  parents  passed  from  here. 

If  'twere  not  that  the  fire  is  low, 

And  chanticleer  awakes  to  throw 

His  midnight  signal  on  the  air, 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  253 

A  sacred  scene  should  newly  glow 
Of  that  beloved  and  loving  pair. 

My  mother's  favorite  seat  was  there, 
And  this  my  father's  high-backed  chair : 
How  clearly  comes  the  long-gone  scene 
When  I  a  child  sat  here  between ! 

One  night, — I  well  recall  the  hour, — 

Just  when  our  second  war  was  past, 
The  winds  were  howling  o'er  the  tower, 
The  snow  its  gulfy  deluge  poured, 

And  up  the  chimney  like  a  blast 

The  flame  from  off  the  hickory  roared, 
Against  the  outer  door  a  blow 

Sounded  like  a  blacksmith's  sledge, 

And,  waiting  no  further  privilege, 
Entered,  it  seemed,  the  Prince  of  Snow, — • 
A  veteran  of  giant  height, 
With  wild  locks  like  his  garments  white. 
The  heavy  stamping  and  the  beat, 

Which  piled  a  drift  within  the  hall, 

Bang  through  the  house,  and  wakened  all 
The  echoes  to  announce  his  feet. 
So  thick  the  cloud  he  scattered  wide, 

And  so  majestic  was  the  fling, 

22 


254  THE   WAGONER   OF 

He  seemed  a  very  arctic  king 
Throwing  his  furry  robe  aside. 

My  sire,  awakened  by  the  stir, 

Gazed  through  the  door  with  shaded  eyes, 
Puzzled  a  moment  with  vague  surprise  ; 
But  when  he  saw  that  giant  size 
And  heard  the  voice  of  bluff  replies, 

He  knew  and  welcomed  the  Wagoner. 

Had  you  beheld  him  stride  the  floor, 
You  ne'er  had  guessed  how  many  a  score 
Of  years  had  blown  their  changeful  air 
Through  those  wild  locks  to  whiten  there. 

We  offered  him  this  cushioned  seat : 
He  took  yon  great  oak  chair  instead, — 
It  felt  more  saddle-like,  he  said, — 

And  flung  him  down  with  wide-spread  feet. 

"  'Tis  seventy  years,"  he  cried,  "  or  more, 
Since  first  I  backed  a  good,  stout  steed ; 
And  though  to-day  with  as  fearless  speed 
I  rode  as  in  the  days  of  yore, 
I  know  that  wild,  free  course  is  o'er. 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  255 

It  boots  not  to  prolong  the  strife : 

That  brave,  old-fashioned,  cheery  life 

Is  ended.     My  contented  grip 
Resigns  at  last  the  guiding  reins : 
No  more  my  bells  o'er  hills  and -plains 
Shall  ring,  as  once,  through  these  domains. 

And  therefore  I  have  brought  my  whip, 
To  hang  it  up  in  Berkley  Hall, 
To  see  it  grace  yon  antlers  tall 
Which  hold  those  old  swords  on  the  wall, 

The  rusty  weapons  of  Sir  Hugh : 

The  honor  is  its  well-earned  due." 

We  welcomed  him  with  hearty  will, 
And  wished  him  many  bright  years  still, 
Then  brought  the  wine — we  knew  the  sort — • 
And  brimmed  a  goblet  with  old  port. 
Through  the  red  cup  he  gazed  a  while, 
In  musing,  with  a  strange,  sad  smile. 

"  Good  Uncle  Ralph,"  my  mother  sighed, 
Dropping  the  embroidery  in  her  lap, 

"  One  question  I  have  often  tried 

To  solve ;  and  yet,  through  some  mishap, 

It  seems  conjecture  wandered  wide  : 


256  THE  WAGONER  OF 

But  you,  I  think,  can  solve  for  me 
Poor  Nora's  mournful  history." 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  a  space, 
Looked  vaguely  in  her  upturned  face, 
As  if  endeavoring  to  recall 

The  far  scenes  of  the  past,  and  said, — 
11  For  her  sake  you  should  know  it  all, 

For  my  sake  too,  when  I  am  dead ; 
But  first,  my  friends,  let  me  make  clear 
The  reason  I  to-night  am  here. 

Beside  the  old  churchyard  to-day 
The  surly  sexton  crossed  my  way  : 
He  glared  at  me  with  sidelong  leer, 

And  flung  his  spade  across  the  wall. 
Just  then  a  hurrying  team  drew  near : 

The  horses,  wagon,  bells,  and  all 
(Believe  me,  'twas  a  marvellous  sign) 
Seemed  like  the  very  ghosts  of  mine ; 
The  driver — for  once  I  held  my  breath, 
To  see  the  flash 
Of  his  maniac  lash — 

Was  a  rattling  skeleton,  grim  and  tall ; 
His  shout  was  the  hollow  shout  of  Death ! 


THE   ALLEGHANIES.  257 

My  team,  with  many  a  plunge  and  rear, 
Went  mad,  then  stood  like  frighted  deer, 

While  I  sat  like  a  girl  aghast, 

Until  that  awful  wagoner  passed ; 
And  when  I  looked  behind,  'twas  gone, 
And  we  were  in  the  road  alone. 

Think  not  that  superstitious  fright 
Could  cheat  my  ear  or  mock  my  sight ; 
Although  the  calendar  counts  me  old, 
My  heart  is  as  the  youngest  bold. 
Brave  Percy,  when  his  charger  stood 

First  on  the  field  of  Brandywine,(13) 
Beheld,  in  clear,  prophetic  mood, 
The  spot  which  should  receive  his  blood ; 

He  saw  his  form's  distinct  outline 
Stretched  on  the  sod, — his  steed,  in  fright, 
Dashing  riderless  through  the  fight; 
Then  instantly  he  galloped  on, 
And  sought  the  fate  he  could  not  shun. 

It  is  a  bitter  night ;  the  cold 

For  the  first  time  now  makes  me  old : 

Another  cup  of  this  warm  wine 

Perchance  will  give  the  blood  a  start, 

22* 


258  THE   WAGONER   OF 

And  thaw  the  chill  about  my  heart, 
And  clear  this  hazy  brain  of  mine." 

Again  his  vague  eye  scanned  the  glass, 
As  if  he  saw  old  memories  pass 

In  many  a  long  and  wavering  line ; 
And,  as  he  held  the  glowing  cup 
Between  him  and  the  lamp-light  up, 
The  color  of  the  deep  wine  threw 
Across  his  face  a  purple  hue : 
I  could  but  shudder  where  I  stood, 
It  looked  so  like  a  dash  of  blood. 

At  last  he  spoke  in  under-tone, — 
"  Those  grand  old  times  are  past  and  gone ; 
But,  Esther," — here  his  eye  grew  bright 
With  something  of  its  former  light, — 
"  Do  you  remember  how  of  old 
Around  our  cause  your  numbers  rolled  ? 

I  ever  loved  a  fiery  song ; 
But  there  was  something  in  your  voice 
Which  made  the  listener's  heart  rejoice, 
His  eye  of  courage  burn  more  bright, 
And  filled  him  with  a  fierce  delight 

That  did  not  to  the  words  belong : 


U  1  259 


THE  ALLEGHANI 

To  hear  again  such,  music  sung 

Would  make  a  veteran  heart  grow  young." 

My  mother's  cheek  turned  somewhat  red 
To  hear  the  praise  so  bluffly  said  ; 
It  seemed  to  bring  the  vanished  days 
What  time  her  song  was  used  to  praise. 
She  looked,  and  smiled,  and  shook  her  head, 

And  said  her.  voice  had  lost  its  power, 
Her  singing  summer-day  had  sped, 

And  she  was  in  her  autumn  bower  ; 
The  water  of  a  spring-time  brook 

Makes  plenteous  music  through  the  land, 
But  surely  'twas  an  idle  look 

Which  sought  it  in  October's  sand  ; 
Her  harp,  too,  since  that  night  of  pain 
Had  never  known  its  chords  again. 

But  still  within  her  secret  breast 
She  thought  to  humor  him  were  best  : 
What  though  her  voice  had  somewhat  failed, 
His  aged  ear,  so  long  assailed 

By  Winter,  could  not  be  o'er  nice,  —  • 
The  sense  so  long  inured  to  storm 
Might  deem  the  cadence  still  was  warm, 

Nor  note  its  chill  of  autumn  ice  :  — 


260  THE  WAGONER   OF 

And  thus,  to  please  an  old  man's  whim, 
With  folded  hands,  she  sang  to  him. 


SONG. 


When  sailed  our  swift  eagle 

O'er  valley  and  highjand, 
The  foe,  like  a  sea-gull, 

Fled  back  to  his  island, — 
Fled  back  to  his  king-land, 

His  home  in  the  ocean, — 
The  white  cliffs  of  England, 

His  pride  and  devotion. 


II. 

Now  peace  and  contentment 

Fill  cottage  and  manor ; 
No  star  of  resentment 

Is  lit  on  our  banner. 
Our  cannon  is  sleeping 

The  port-shadows  under ; 
The  spell  in  its  keeping 

Let  naught  break  asunder. 


THE  ALLEGHANIES.  261 


III. 

The  impotent  taunt  let 

Go  by, — the  wind  brings  it ; 
But  not  the  red  gauntlet, 

No  matter  who  flings  it. 
Who  palters  and  falters, 

Ne'er  hearken  his  story, 
But  strike  for  your  altars, 

For  Freedom  and  Glory. 


"  Nay,  never  say,"  the  old  man  cried, 
"  Your  voice  is  like  a  brooklet  dried ; 
But  rather  say  'tis  filled  again, 
Overflowing  with  the  autumn  rain. 

It  carries  me  back,  both  brain  and  heart, 
As  if  a  gale  swept  o'er  the  scroll ; 
I  see. the  storied  past  unroll ; 

And  now,  methinks,  I  may  impart 
Something  of  Nora  and  the  child. 

My  memory  is  a  restive  colt, 

Stubborn  at  times,  contrary,  wild, 
At  the  wrong  moment  apt  to  bolt ; 


262  THE  WAGONER. 

But  wine  upon  an  old  man's  lip, 
To  such  a  steed,  is  spur  and  whip." 

Then  laughed  he  his  accustomed  laugh, 

That  shook  the  glasses  on  the  board, 
And,  with  a  long  and  breathless  quaff, 

The  wine  across  his  lip  was  poured : 
The  goblet  dropt  from  out  his  hold, 

And  crashed  to  fragments  on  the  floor ; 
Slow  sank  his  chin,  slow  drooped  his  lid, 
His  heavy  hands  beside  him  slid ; 

He  slept, — ay,  slept, — but  breathed  no  more, 
And  left  the  story  still  untold. 

As  when  some  monarch  of  the  trees, 
Which  held  so  long  defiant  state 
Against  the  lightning  and  the  gale, 

O'erborne  at  last  by  its  own  weight, 
While  laughing  in  the  passing  breeze, 

Falls  prone  in  the  astonished  vale, — 
So  fell  our  grand  old  Hercules. 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


1.    PAGE  69. 

With  horrid  noise  of  horn  and  pan, 
Sad  borne  in  mockery  up  and  down 
The  noisiest  Tory  of  the  town. 

"Among  the  disaffected  in  Philadelphia,  Dr.  K was  pre 
eminently  ardent  and  rash.  An  extremely  zealous  loyalist,  and 
impetuous  in  his  temper,  he  had  given  much  umbrage  to  the 
Whigs,  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  had  been  detected  in  some 
hostile  machinations  :  hence  he  was  deemed  a  proper  subject  for 
the  fashionable  punishment  of  tarring,  feathering,  and  carting. 
He  was  seized  at  his  own,  door  by  a  party  of  militia,  and,  in  an 
attempt  to  resist  them,  received  a  wound  in  his  hand  from  a 
bayonet.  Being  overpowered,  he  was  placed  in  a  cart  provided 
for  the  purpose,  and,  amid  a  multitude  of  boys  and  idlers,  paraded 
through  the  streets  to  the  tune  of  the  royal  march.  I  happened 
to  be  at  the  Coffee-House  when  the  concourse  arrived  there.  They 
made  a  halt ;  when  the  doctor,  foaming  with  rage  and  indigna 
tion,  without  his  hat,  his  wig  dishevelled  and  bloody  from  his 
wounded  hand,  stood  up  in  the  cart  and  called  for  a  bowl  of 
punch.  It  was  quickly  handed  to  him, — when  so  vehement  wag 
23  265 


266  NOTES. 

his  thirst  that  he  drained  it  of  its  contents  before  he  took  it  from 
his  lips.  .  .  . 

"  It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  the  conduct  of  the  popu 
lace  was  marked  by  a  lenity  which  peculiarly  distinguished  the 
cradle  of  our  republicanism.  Tar  and  feathers  had  been  dispensed 
with,  and,  excepting  the  injury  he  had  received  in  his  hand,  no 
sort  of  violence  was  offered  by  the  mob  to  their  victim." 

Graydon's  Memoirs  of  his  Own  Times. 


NOTE  2.    PAGE  80. 

Oh,  would  some  sweet  bird  of  the  South 
Might  build  in  every  cannon's  mouth  ! 

This  part  of  the  poem  was  written  six  years  ago;  consequently 
the  passage  was  not  suggested  by  the  cannon  which  "  Disunion'* 
has  since  then  pointed  against  the  North. 


NOTE  3.    PAGE  90. 

And,  lo,  he  met  their  wondering  eyes 
Complete  in  all  a  warrior's  guise. 

"In  concluding  his  farewell  sermon,  he  said  that,Jn  the  lan 
guage  of  Holy  Writ,  'there  was  a  time  for  all  things, — a  time  to 
preach,  and  a  time  to  pray, — but  those  times  had  passed  away;' 
and  then,  in  a  voice  that  echoed  like  a  trumpet-blast  through  the 
church,  he  said  that  'there  was  a  time  to  fight,  and  that  time  had 
now  come.'  Then,  laying  aside  his  sacerdotal  gown,  he  stood 
before  his  flock  in  the  full  regimental  dress  of  a  Virginia  colonel. 
He  ordered  the  drums  to  be  beaten  at  the  church-door  for  recruits, 
and  almost  all  his  male  audience  capable  of  bearing  arms  joined 
his  standard." 

Lossing's  Sketch  of  the  Life  of  General  Muhlenberg. 


NOTES.  267 


NOTE  4.    PAGE  106. 


He  gained  the,  river  and  the  cave. 

The  cave  referred  to  is  not  a  creation  of  the  fancy,  but  exists 
in  the  vicinity  indicated,  and  is  the  scene  of  more  than  one 
romantic  legend. 


NOTE  5.    PAGE  113. 


I  watched  the  long,  long  ranks  go  by. 

"  Washington,  in  order  to  encourage  its  friends  and  dishearten 
its  enemies,  marched  with  the  whole  army  through  the  city  down 
Front  and  up  Chestnut  Streets.  Great  pains  were  taken  to  make 
the  display  as  imposing  as  possible.  To  give  them  something  of 
a  uniform  appearance,  they  had  sprigs  of  green  in  their  hats. 
Washington  rode  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  attended  by  his  nume 
rous  staff,  with  the  Marquis  Lafayette  by  his  side.  The  long 
column  of  the  army,  broken  into  divisions  and  brigades,  the 
pioneers  with  their  axes,  the  squadrons  of  horse,  the  extended 
trains  of  artillery,  the  tramp  of  steed,  the  bray  of  trumpet  and 
spirit-stirring  sound  of  drum  and  fife, — all  had  an  imposing  effect 
on  a  peaceful  city  unused  to  the  sight  of  marshalled  armies.  The 
disaffected,  who  had  been  taught  to  believe  the  American  forces 
much  less  than  they  were  in  reality,  were  astonished  as  they 
gazed  on  the  lengthening  procession  of  a  host  which  to  their 
unpractised  eyes  appeared  innumerable ;  while  the  Whigs,  gain 
ing  fresh  hope  and  animation  from  the  sight,  cheered  the  patriot 
squadrons  as  they  passed."  Irving's  Life  of  Washington. 


268  NOTES. 


NOTE  6.    PAGE  130. 

The  soft  air  felt  the  jar 
Of  thunder  rolling  from  afar. 

All  the  chronicles  agree  in  stating  that  the  cannonading  at  the 
battle  of  Brandywine  was  distinctly  heard  at  Philadelphia  and 
its  vicinity. 


NOTE  7.    PAGE  155. 

The  vapor  dank 
Of  morning  hanging  gray  and  blank. 

A  heavy  fog  enveloped  Germantown  on  the  morning  of  the 
battle,  which,  "together  with  the  smoke  of  the  cannon  and 
musketry,"  says  Irving,  "  made  it  almost  as  dark  as  night." 


NOTE  8.    PAGE  160. 

When  Victory,  with  her  thrusting  hand, 
Through  blinding  fogs,  strove  to  consign 
Her  laurel  to  the  patriot  band. 

"  Every  account  confirms  the  opinion  I  at  first  entertained, — 
that  our  troops  retreated  at  the  instant  when  victory  was  declaring 
herself  in  our  favor.  I  can  discover  no  other  cause  for  not  im 
proving  this  happy  opportunity  than  the  extreme  haziness  of  the 
weather."  Washington  to  the  President  of  Congress. 


NOTES.  269 


NOTE  9.    PAGE  185. 

Lydia  Darrach's  faithful  word. 

11  Mrs.  Darrach's  Conduct. — I  have  very  direct  and  certain  evi 
dence  for  saying  that  Mrs.  Lydia  Darrach,  the  wife  of  William 
Darrach  (a  teacher,  dwelling  in  the  house  No.  177  South  Second 
Street,  corner  of  Little  Dock  Street),  was  the  cause  of  saving 
Washington's  army  from  great  disaster  while  it  lay  at  White- 
marsh  in  1777.  The  case  was  this.  The  adjutant-general  of  the 
British  army  occupied  a  chamber  in  that  house,  and  came  there 
by  night  to  read  the  orders  and  plan  of  General  Howe's  meditated 
attack.  She  overheard  them  when  she  was  expected  to  have  been 
asleep  in  bed;  and,  making  a  pretext  to  go  out  to  Frankford  for 
flour  for  family  use,  under  a  pass,  she  met  with  Colonel  Craig 
(who  afterwards  shot  himself)  and  communicated  the  whole  to 
him,  who  immediately  rode  off  to  General  Washington  to  put 
him  on  his  guard.  The  next  night,  about  midnight,  the  British 
army,  in  great  force,  marched  silently  out  of  Philadelphia.  The 
whole  affair  terminated  in  what  was  called,  I  believe,  the  action 
of  Edgehill,  on  the  5th  of  December;  and,  on  the  8th  following, 
the  British  got  back  to  the  city,  fatigued  and  disappointed. 
Lydia  Darrach  and  her  husband  were  Friends.  She  communi 
cated  all  the  particulars  (more  than  here  expressed)  to  my  friend 
Mrs.  Hannah  Haines,  and  others.  Although  she  was  a  small  and 
weakly  woman,  she  walked  the  whole  distance,  going  and  coming, 
bringing  with  her — to  save  appearances — twenty-five  pounds  of 
flour,  borne  upon  the  arms  all  the  way  from  Frankford.  The 
adjutant-general  afterwards  came  to  her  to  inquire  if  it  had  been 
possible  that  any  of  her  family  could  have  been  up  to  listen  and 
convey  intelligence,  since  the  result  had  been  so  mysterious  to 
him."  Watson's  Annals. 

A  similar  stratagem  was  planned  to  surprise  Washington  at 
Valley  Forge;  but,  the  fact  being  communicated  in  time,  the 
enemy  was  foiled  by  the  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance  of 
Lafayette  and  his  corps  on  the  banks  of  the  Schuylkill. 


270  NOTES. 


NOTE  10.     PAGE  203. 


The  Meschianza  at  Philadelphia. 

"The  Meschianza  was  chiefly  a  tilt  and  tournament,  with  other 
entertainments,  as  the  term  implies,  and  was  given  on  Monday 
the  18th  of  May,  1778,  at  Wharton's  country-seat,  in  Southwark, 
by  the  officers  of  General  Howe's  army,  to  that  officer  on  his 
quitting  the  command  to  return  to  England. 

"The  company  began  to  assemble  at  three  to  four  o'clock,  at 
Knight's  Wharf,  at  the  water's  edge  of  Green  Street,  in  the 
Northern  Liberties;  and  by  half-past  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon  the  whole  were  embarked,  in  the  pleasant  month  of  May, 
in  a  'grand  regatta'  of  three  divisions. 

"When  arrived  at  the  fort  below  the  Swedes'  Church,  they 
formed  a  line  through  an  avenue  of  grenadiers  and  light-horse  in 
the  rear.  The  company  were  thus  conducted  to  a  square  lawn 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  on  each  side,  and  which  was  also 
lined  with  troops.  This  area  formed  the  ground  for  a  tilt  or  tour 
nament.  On  the  front  seat  of  each  pavilion  were  placed  seven 
of  the  principal  young  ladies  of  the  country,  dressed  in  Turkish 
habits,  and  wearing  in  their  turbans  the  articles  which  they 
intended  to  bestow  on  their  several  gallant  knights.  Soon  the 
trumpets  at  a  distance  announced  the  approach  of  the  seven 
white  knights,  habited  in  white  and  red  silk  and  mounted  on 
gray  chargers  richly  caparisoned  in  similar  colors.  These  were 
followed  by  their  several  esquires  on  foot.  Besides  these,  there 
was  a  herald  in  his  robe.  These  all  made  the  circuit  of  the 
square,  saluting  the  ladies  as  they  passed,  and  then  they  ranged 
in  line  with  their  ladies;  then  their  herald  (Mr.  Beaumont), 
after  a  flourish  of  trumpets,  proclaimed  their  challenge  in  the 
name  of  '  the  knights  of  the  blended  rose,' — declaring  that  the 
ladies  of  their  order  excel,  in  wit,  beauty,  and  accomplishments, 
those  of  the  whole  world,  and  they  are  ready  to  enter  the  lists 
against  any  knights  who  will  deny  the  same,  according  to  th(* 
laws  of  ancient  chivalry. 


NOTES.  27.1 

"At  the  third  repetition  of  the  challenge,  a  sound  of  trumpets 
announced  the  entrance  of  another  herald  with  four  trumpeters 
dressed  in  black  and  orange.  The  two  heralds  held  a  parley, 
when  the  black  herald  proceeded  to  proclaim  his  defiance  in  the 
name  of  'the  knights  of  the  burning  mountain.'  Then  retiring, 
there  soon  after  entered  '  the  black  knights/  with  their  esquires, 
preceded  by  their  herald,  on  whose  tunic  was  represented  a  moun 
tain  sending  forth  flames,  and  the  motto,  '  I  burn  forever  !' 

"These  seven  knights,  like  the  former  ones,  rode  round  the 
lists  and  made  their  obeisance  to  the  ladies,  and  then  drew  up, 
fronting  the  white  knights;  and,  the  chief  of  these  having  thrown 
down  his  gauntlet,  the  chief  of  the  black  knights  directed  his 
esquire  to  take  it  up.  Then  the  knights  received  their  lances 
from  their  esquires,  fixed  their  shields  on  their  left  arms,  and, 
making  a  general  salute  to  each  other  by  a  movement  of  their 
lances,  turned  round  to  take  their  career,  and,  encountering  in 
full  gallop,  shivered  their  spears.  In  the  second  and  third 
encounter  they  discharged  their  pistols.  In  the  fourth,  they 
fought  with  their  swords. 

"  From  the  garden  they  ascended  a  flight  of  steps  covered  with 
carpets,  which  led  into  a  spacious  hall,  the  panels  of  which  were 
pninted  in  imitation  of  Sienna  marble,  enclosing  festoons  of  white 
marble.  In  this  hall  and  the  adjoining  apartments  were  pre 
pared  tea,  lemonade,  &c.,  to  which  the  company  seated  them 
selves.  At  this  time  the  knights  came  in,  and  on  their  knee 
received  their  favors  from  their  respective  ladies.  From  these 
apartments  they  went  up  to  a  ball-room,  decorated  in  a  light, 
elegant  style  of  painting  and  showing  many  festoons  of  flowers. 
The  brilliancy  of  the  whole  was  heightened  by  eighty-five  mir 
rors  decked  with  ribbons  and  flowers,  and  in  the  intermediate 
spaces  were  thirty-four  branches.  On  the  same  floor  were  four 
drawing-rooms,  with  sideboards  of  refreshments,  decorated  and 
lighted  in  the  style  of  the  ball-room.  The  ball  was  opened  by 
the  knights  and  their  ladies :  and  the  dances  continued  till  ten 
o'clock,  when  the  windows  were  thrown  open,  and  a  magnificent 
bouquet  of  rockets  began  the  fireworks.  These  were  planned  by 
Captain  Montresor,  the  chief  engineer,  and  consisted  of  twenty 


272  NOTES. 

different  displays,  in  great  variety  and  beauty,  and  changing  Gene 
ral  Howe's  arch  into  a  variety  of  shapes  and  devices.  At  twelve 
o'clock  (midnight)  supper  was  announced,  and  large  folding- 
doors,  before  concealed,  sprung  open,  and  discovered  a  magnifi 
cent  saloon  of  two  hundred  and  ten  feet  by  forty  feet,  and  twenty- 
two  feet  in  height,  with  three  alcoves  on  each  side  which  served 
for  sideboards.  The  sides  were  painted  with  vine-leaves  and 
festoon-flowers,  and  fifty-six  large  pier-glasses,  ornamented  with 
green  silk,  artificial  flowers,  and  ribbons.  There  were  also  one 
hundred  branches  trimmed,  and  eighteen  lustres  of  twenty- 
four  lights  hung  from  the  ceiling.  There  were  three  hundred 
wax  tapers  on  the  supper-tables,  four  hundred  and  thirty  covers, 
and  twelve  hundred  dishes.  There  were  twenty-four  black  slaves 
in  Oriental  dresses,  with  silver  collars  and  bracelets.  Toward 
the  close  of  the  banquet,  the  herald  with  his  trumpeters  entered 
and  announced  the  king  and  royal  family's  health,  with  other 
toasts.  Each  toast  was  followed  by  a  flourish  of  music.  After 
the  supper,  the  company  returned  to  the  ball-room,  and  continued 
to  dance  until  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"I  omit  to  describe  the  two  arches;  but  they  were  greatly  em 
bellished:  they  had  two  fronts  in  the  Tuscan  order.  The  pedi 
ment  of  one  was  adorned  with  naval  trophies,  and  the  other  with 
military  ones. 

"  Major  Andre,  who  wrote  a  description  of  it  (although  his 
name  is  concealed),  calls  it  'the  most  splendid  entertainment 
ever  given  by  an  army  to  its  general.'  The  whole  expense  was 
borne  by  twenty-two  field-officers.  The  managers  were  Sir  John 
"VVrotlesby,  Colonel  O'Hara,  and  Majors  Gardiner  and  Montresor. 
This  splendid  pageant  blazed  out  in  one  short  night.  Next  day 
the  enchantment  was  dissolved:  and  in  exactly  one  month  all 
these  knights  and  the  whole  army  chose  to  make  their  march 
from  the  city  of  Philadelphia."  WATSON. 


NOTES.  273 


NOTE  11.     PAGE  225. 

There  rose  a,  tumult  wild  without. 

"  While  the  British  were  indulging  in  the  festivities  of  the 
night  of  the  Meschianza,  below  the  city,  McLane  was  busy  with 
a  stratagem  to  break  them  up.  He  had  one  hundred  infantry,  in 
four  squads,  supported  by  Clow's  dragoons.  At  ten  at  night  they 
had  reached  the  abatis  in  front  of  their  redoubts,  extending  from 
the  Schuylkill  to  the  Globe  Mill.  These  divisions  carried  camp- 
kettles  filled  with  combustibles,  with  which  at  the  proper  signal 
they  fired  the  whole  line  of  abatis.  The  British  beat  the  long 
roll,  and  their  alarm-guns  were  fired  from  river  to  river,  and  were 
answered  from  the  Park,  in  Southwark.  The  ladies,  however, 
were  so  managed  by  the  officers  as  to  have  taken  the  cannonade 
for  any  thing  but  the  fact,  and  therefore  continued  the  sports 
of  the  night.  But  the  officers  in  charge  on  the  lines  understood 
the  nature  of  the  assailants,  and  gave  pursuit  and  assault.  He 
retired  to  the  hills  and  fastnesses  of  the  Wissahickon.  After  day 
light,  the  British  horse  were  in  full  force  to  pursue  him,  and 
finally  took  his  picket  and  ensign  at  Barren  Hill.  McLane  was 
afterwards  attacked,  and  swam  his  horse  across  the  Schuylkill, 
when  some  of  Morgan's  riflemen  appeared  to  his  protection.  He 
then  turned  upon  his  pursuers,  driving  them  in  turn  into  their 
lines  near  the  city."  WATSON. 


NOTE  12.    PAGE  252. 

Giving  his  daughter  Berkley  Hall, 
And  his  blessing  with  the  broad  estate. 

As  some  may  not  be  aware  of  the  baronial  style  in  which  cer 
tain  of  the  early  settlers  of  our  country  lived,  and  fearing  that 
the  description  of  "  Berkley  Hall"  might  be  thought  overdrawn, 
the  author  again  avails  himself  of  the  invaluable  "  Annals"  of 
Watson  to  select  a  couple  of  passages : — 


274  NOTES. 

"The  Wharton  Mansion,  in  South wark,  fronting  the  river, 
back  from  the  present'  Navy-Yard,  was  a  country-house  of 
grandeur  in  its  day.  It  was  of  large  dimensions,  with  its  lawns 
and  trees;  and,  as  a  superior  Jiouse,  was  chosen  by  the  British 
officers  of  Howe's  army  for  the  celebration  of  the  Meschianza. 
Wilton,  the  place  once  of  Joseph  Turner,  down  in  the  Neck,  was 
the  nonpareil  of  its  day.  It  was  the  fashionable  resort  for  genteel 
strangers.  Every  possible  attention  was  paid  to  embellishment, 
and  the  garden-cultivation  was  superior.  The  grounds  had  orna 
mented  clumps  and  ranges  of  trees.  Many  statues  of  fine  marble 
(sold  from  a  Spanish  prize)  were  distributed  through  the  grounds 
and  avenues.  The  mansion-house  and  out-houses,  still  standing, 
show  in  some  degree  their  former  grandeur.  The  ceilings  are 
high  and  covered  with  stucco-work,  and  the  halls  are  large." 

"Duches  House. — This  was  one  of  the  most  venerable-looking, 
antiquated  houses  of  our  city,  built  in  1758  for  Parson  Duche, 
the  pastor  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  as  a  gift  from  his  father.  It  was 
taken  down  a  few  years  ago.  It  was  said  to  have  been  built  after 
the  pattern  of  one  of  the  wings  of  Lambeth  Palace.  When  first 
erected,  it  was  considered  quite  out  of  town  (corner  of  Third  and 
Pine  Streets),  and  for  some  time  rested  in  lonely  grandeur.  It 
afterwards  became  the  residence  of  Governor  McKean  :  and,  when 
we  saw  it  as  a  boy,  we  derived  from  its  contemplation  conceptions 
of  the  state  and  dignity  of  a  Governor  which  no  subsequent  struc 
tures  could  generate.  It  seemed  the  appropriate  residence  of  some 
notable  public  man." 


NOTE  13.    PAGE  257. 

Brave  Percy,  when  his  charger  stood 
First  on  the  field  of  Brandywine. 

"Among  the  gayest  of  the  gay,  as  a  volunteer  in  the  suite  of 
one  of  the  British  generals, — as  tradition  informs  us, — was  a 
sprightly  and  chivalrous  descendant  of  the  Percys.  He  was  a 
noble  and  generous  youth,  and  had  volunteered  on.  the  present 


NOTES.  275 

occasion  as  an  amateur,  to  see  how  fields  were  won.  As  the 
young  Percy  came  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  he  was  observed 
suddenly  to  curb  in  his  impatient  steed ;  and  the  gay  smile  upon 
his  lively  features,  changing  at  first  to  gravity,  soon  became  sad 
and  pensive  as  he  glanced  his  bright  eye  over  the  extensive  roll 
ing  landscape,  now  rife  with  animation.  The  wide  prospect  of 
gentle  hill  and  dale,  with  forest  and  farm-house,  the  bright 
waters  of  the  Brandywine,  just  appearing  in  one  little  winding 
section,  in  a  low  and  beautiful  valley  on  the  right,  formed  of 
itself  a  picturesque  view  for  the  lover  of  the  simple  garniture 
of  nature:  all  combined  to  make  up  a  scene  which  it  would 
hardly  be  supposed  would  have  damped  the  ardor  or  clouded 
with  gloom  the  fine  features  of  a  young  officer  whose  proud  lip 
would  at  any  other  moment  have  curled  with  scorn  and  his  eye 
kindled  with  indignation  at  the  remotest  intimation  of  a  want 
of  firmness  in  the  hour  of  trial.  Yet,  with  a  subdued  and  half- 
saddened  eye,  the  young  Percy,  who  but  a  moment  before  was 
panting  to  play  the  hero  in  the  contest,  paused  for  a  moment 
longer.  Then,  calling  his  servant  to  his  side,  and  taking  his 
diamond-studded  repeater  from  his  pocket, — 'Here,'  said  he, 
'take  this  and  deliver  it  to  my  sister  in  Northumberland.  I 
have  seen  this  field  and  this  landscape  before,  in  a  dream  in 
England.  Here  I  shall  fall.  And' — drawing  a  heavy  purse  of 
gold  from  his  pocket — '  take  this  for  yourself.'  Saying  this,  he 
dashed  forward  with  his  fellows.  The  most  obstinate  fighting 
during  the  engagement  took  place  near  the  centre,  which  rested 
upon  the  little  stone  meeting-house  of  the  Quakers,  and  in  the 
graveyard,  walled  on  all  sides  by  a  thick  stone  masonwork, 
which,  with  the  church,  are  yet  standing  as  firmly  as  at  the 
period  of  which  we  are  writing.  This  enclosure  was  long  and 
resolutely  defended  by  the  Americans;  and  it  was  near  this 
place,  about  the  middle  of  the  action,  that  the  noble  young  Percy 
fell,  as  he  believed  he  had  been  doomed  to  do.  The  enclosure 
was  at  length  scaled,  and  carried  by  the  bayonet.  The  wounded 
were  taken  into  the  meeting-house,  built  by  peacemakers  for  the 
worship  of  the  God  of  peace,  though  now  the  centre  of  the  bloody 
strife;  and  the  dead  were  inhumed  in  one  corner  of  the  burying- 
ground  in  which  they  had  many  of  them  been  slain.  Just  before 


276  NOTES. 

our  visit,  a  grave  had  been  dug,  and  the  remains  of  a  British 
soldier  disinterred.  A  part  of  his  shoes  remained:  a  few  pieces 
of  red  cloth,  a  button  likewise,  marked  '44th  Reg*.',  and  a  flat 
tened  bullet, — probably  the  winged  messenger  of  death  to  the 
wearer, — were  also  found;  both  of  which  were  given  to  us  by  the 
good  man  near  by  the  meeting-house."  WATSON. 


THE  END. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  4  CO. 
PHILADELPHIA. 


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